#that feature is an enemy of my wallet

[vampirecatboy]

etsy really needs to stop showing me cute stickers and keychains of the characters i'm in love with i am not made of money god dammit

[1u11ablues]

No Doubts Anymore (Simon 'Ghost' Riley x You) [Dual POV]

WC: Almost 3k

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Slight Angst, Not Beta-read.

Alternate ending where Simon didn't die, as requested by an anon!

Part 1

Deep, almost purple lines had been a permanent feature of your face, now. Where your eyeliner used to go, there are now tear lines extending from the corner of your eyes—a product of sleepless nights and unhealed grief.

Has it been four months now? Five? Hell, half a year? Time heals all wounds, they said, yet you wake up with more pieces tumbling out of your chest every day that sleep decides to grant you mercy.

Simon’s balaclava, all his bloody shirts that he used to wear, they lie pristine where you last kept them. 

In a box, inside the closet.

For you fear the scent of him will disappear with every touch, every kiss upon his belongings.

But sometimes—like tonight—it gets unbearable.

Curled up on the mattress, bedsheets probably moulding in the dryer back when you had the sudden burst of energy to be productive, you took a rationed inhale of the skull balaclava in your arms. 

The position was a pain to maintain. Yet, even that kind of pain was preferable. Maybe if you’re in enough physical pain, angry enough, drunk enough-

You’d said no to Price’s repeated recommendations to see a therapist, because how could he understand?

How could the man ever understand the irrational, undeserved hatred—that you’d tried to tell yourself off for—you had against him for having a hand in Simon’s death?

It was just one of the multiple poisons you’d let into your body. Hatred. Substance. Isolation.

“You’re supposed to get up, love. The bills are stacking up.”

And sometimes, like today, the ghost of him materialised to taunt you with an untouchable form. Sitting on his side of the bed—not even kind enough to make a dip on the mattress to tell you that he’s there—and talking you out of misery.

“When’s the last time you’ve eaten something? This is not how you move on.”

“I don’t want to move on! You left. You didn’t even give me a chance to say goodbye- I hate you. With all my heart, I hate you, Simon Riley.”

And, like clockwork, he disappeared into thin air.

***

It is over. He had kept up the ruse, going along with Price’s plan to pronounce several soldiers dead just so he can join a team of spies to infiltrate enemy bases and gather valuable intel.

So he spied, waiting things out until Price gave him the go-ahead to leave, knowing what was waiting for him at home; the state in which he’d left things at.

He didn’t want Price to drop his box onto your lap and let you know that he was dead. Because what use would it be for him to fight against hell, to keep the breath in his throat if it weren’t for the sake of coming home to your arms?

Still, he relented. And, for it to work,, he had to rid himself of every trace of you, just so there would be no connection linking him to his one and only pressure point.

But it’s over now, and God, he has a lifetime of apologising to do.

As soon as he reached his quarters, he knelt by the mattress he’d slept on many a night that he wasn’t able to spend besides you. He lifted it up, and under it—if one knows where to look—was a stitch where he’d taken a drag of his combat knife to before his mission, hid one item of yours he wasn’t strong enough to burn, and meticulously threaded the hole back together.

This time, his slice met with less resistance. He reached into the fillings and felt around, and, there-

He pulled out the glossy picture of you he used to keep in his wallet and brought with him to everywhere he could go. 

He got it from the time he’d taken you out on the walk in mid-autumn, letting you pester him to try one of those seasonal drinks he used to care less about. There’s a photo booth right out of the cafe and, of course, you pulled him into it and took so many pictures he’d gone half-blind, but this picture wasn’t from that, no. When you were ordering the drinks, he came back out to the booth because he noticed there was an option to print his own picture from his phone. 

He did his best to figure out how the fuck was he to connect his phone to sync up his gallery to it, but it worked eventually.

That damned machine ate almost thirty pounds off his wallet to print out his favourite pictures of you.

One where you were petting a dog. One where you were biting into a caramel apple. One where you had the most ridiculous foam mustache. And this one-

Where you were asleep, right next to him. An image of peace that he regrets not being able to bring you more.

Instinctually, he brought the picture to his chest, right where his heart still beat. 

He’s coming home and making sure he treats you well for the rest of his life.

***

When he reached the flat, his spirit deflated, realising that it was empty.

Well, at least, that’s how it seemed from the outside. It was all dark, quiet. There was nothing that could indicate life within the walls of your home, until he heard soft, inconsistent sniffles behind the door, getting fainter and fainter the more you moved away from it.

Even though the key was in his hand, he figured it would be most sensible to knock. After all, you were under the impression that he was dead up until three days ago, when Price had hopefully relayed the actual news to you, giving you ample time to react.

Three classic knocks. No answer.

Another three. The sniffles had died down. Were you asleep?

After about five minutes of waiting, he finally decided to use the front door key. 

It’s late, he thought, and you were probably comfortably sleeping.

Like he noticed from outside, the darkness bathed the entire space. Save for the dim glow from the battery-powered LED snow globe that doubled as your nightlight—signs that you were awake were minimal.

I’ll just crawl into bed and hold her, he thought, until an unpleasant smell wafted from the kitchenette.

The sequences of what greeted him? A miserable discovery.

Overflowing bins, unwashed plates. Spoiled food leaking out of the refrigerator and a full load of clothes were still in the dryer.

In truth, Simon had a feeling you’d fall into depression a week or two—a month maximum—before you moved on from his ‘death.’

It had been a year. Has this been your year? Falling into unkemptness when he never knew you to love clutter?

“Love?” He called out, softly, just in case you were really asleep. He tossed his belongings on the sofa unceremoniously—where he put his belongings were the last thing on his mind at the moment—before making his way to the bedroom.

The sight shushed his brain to a ringing silence.

In the middle of the room was the box of his military belongings, opened, its cover flapping against the opening at every oscillation of the standing fan in the corner of the room.

Two things were making sounds at that moment. The fan, supposedly comfortable white noise now an attack to his senses; you, struggling to get a breath in as you cried, hair matted and red sores visible on the sides of your hip.

“Fuck me- Love-” he immediately moved up to the side of the bed. You were facing the other way, curled up and hugging something close to your chest.

“It’s me, love, I’m back, I’m sorry,” words stumble out of his mouth in wasteful attempts. Not even managing to elicit a reaction out of you.

Hell, it took him almost a full five minutes of apologising before you even turned back to look at him.

And the first words that had come out of your lips?

“I hate you, and I wish I had never met you.”

***

Again, the vision of him came to torment you. 

What is it this time? To tell you to air the room out? To drink more water?

Again, you tell him the words that would normally make him disappear.

“I hate you, and I wish I had never met you.”

It was like a spell that you had used to stop unwanted hallucinations—or so you thought. They always come back and it takes sleeping to finally stop some of the visions.

This one didn’t seem to budge. In fact, it answered! Maybe you need to take up Price’s offer for professional help.

“You don’t mean that, darling…” he spoke, face absent of the non-expression you were used to seeing in the figment of him that continues to visit you.

Of course, you don’t mean it. But how else would you deal with the fact that you’re slowly losing your mind? How else are you going to attempt to move-

The touch on your face is warm. Textured.

You can’t remember the last time you dreamt about being touched like that again, his hands brushing hair away from your face, and this time, oh, how cruel is it for it to feel this real?

How cruel, how evil?

With fresh tears and wobbly lips—your attempt at trying to hold on from simply breaking down—you whispered, “You never gave me the chance to say goodbye. Don’t you love me enough to even give me that, Simon? Am I not worth a single glance back, when we fought, when I asked you if the mission was more important than your life? Than us?”

The fight, your last memory of him, was unfortunately always the fight. 

When you were uselessly clinging to him to not go because your inkling was proved true—it wasn’t a mission that he’ll come back from.

Even knowing that, he kept it to himself. You were to read and interpret his facial expressions and body language yourself, coming to your own realisation that he was given a death mission.

“I hate you,” you say again, “I don’t think I will be able to move on from you. Go away, please. Don’t haunt me anymore.”

Turning your back on him, the silence tells you that the vision had dissipated. A deep sense of regret fills you, intermingling with loss and guilt that tasted like bile in your throat.

You didn’t mean that; you didn’t mean to be mean. Maybe if you turn around and apologise, it could help ease the process. Maybe, maybe-

His sad eyes still stared down at you. It didn’t work.

Where his arms rested, the mattress dented.

“Do you mean it? Have I returned to find you hating me?”

***

He didn’t know if you’d even let him touch you, so his arms rested on the uncovered mattress and hoped for the best.

It sounded like you’ve developed venom for him. Rightfully so, given the way you ended things before he went off on the year-long mission. 

Simon was not good at that, the talking part of a relationship. Despite how he presents himself, he still stuttered over his words and lost his speech when being in love occupied a big part of his brain—rendering any sort of poetic affection null. His body speaks for him most of the time.

“Am I losing my mind, or have the ghost of you taken on a physical form?”

The confusion in your face was apparently enough to put a pause on the sobs. You hadn’t an idea how relieved he is at the lack of them. Never in his life would he want to make you cry as hard again, if he could help it.

“It’s me, sweetheart. I’m back. It was a covert mission…haven’t Price informed you?”

He didn’t expect a ‘welcome home’ with cakes and a banner—but he admitted, the least he wished for was a hug. A tight, long hug, followed by a night of holding each other until his body couldn’t physically take it anymore.

Has he gone and ruined it?

“Price?” Your hands thud against the bed to feel for your phone. It had been days since you last checked it, or more. Time moves differently when you’re busy nursing loss and heartbreak. Realising the device was nowhere close, you finally got off the bed—after spending a consecutive day and a half in it—to scan the nearest floor and then-

Ah, there it is. You picked it up and unlocked the screen. 

Your eyes bulged as the notifications rolled through the notifications bar, Price’s name consisting of the majority of it.

Simon trails your every movement. After his question, it took you several pauses to think, but almost a quarter of the time to look for your phone, which had undoubtedly dropped somewhere on the floor throughout the day.

His breath stills as he watched your eyes increasingly widen reading the messages. Messages that should’ve reached you at least a couple days ago, that were to prepare you for his arrival.

“Simon?” You called out as you read through each of Price’s explanations and apology. There was another number that tried to reach you, too. Also, a series of apologies—this time, more intimate.

“I’m here,” he answered. God, he wanted to hold you so, so badly. But he can wait. He waited for a year with nothing but the memories and dreams of you to keep him going. He can wait the few moments more that it took you to decide on a path.

“Simon, is- is that really you? I’m not imagining things? I swear, if it’s my head again, this is really cruel-“

“It’s me, love. It’s really me. Not a hallucination. I’m home.”

You look at the figure on the other side of the bed. Slowly, you climbed onto the mattress, scooting ever so hesitantly with your knees to the middle of the queen sized-bed, hands reaching out half-expecting your touch to go through him.

Damn it, he couldn’t wait. When you got onto the bed, his body rushed to mirror the movement, meeting you halfway and grabbing your hand to place it over his cheek—now with an additional scar over his jaw.

His eyes shut. Your touch upon him righted his world again, and suddenly-

He’s crying. Or at least, about to. He’s here, and warm and tears brim his eyes, somehow never falling down. 

Most importantly, he’s home.

“My dear, what have they done to you?”

He’d returned to you almost unrecognisable—the certain look in his eyes that made him Simon washed away until only a dull imitation remains.

“Not now, love. I don’t want to talk about it now.” 

He’d gone through torture before, and came out of it with deeper scars than the last. 

But this torture was different. The enemy they were against was known for targeting the person closest to whomever was against them, thus the need to cut contact with you. Every night was a constant pacing, wondering if they had found you, if you were okay. Every damned moment, your imagined screams and cries took over his decisions, despite him trying his best to keep his head on the mission.

The torture was visions of you being in his place.

“Please, is it too late for me to answer your question now?”

“What question?” 

You were always the more emotional one in the relationship. So, despite all the tears you’ve exhausted through months of mourning, there was no surprise that your body had decided to create more. 

Though, this time, it was his head pressed to your chest instead of the other way around. Because yes, you may have suffered through the loss of him, but he had been actively fighting for his life in that same duration—and having to hide all of it from you, too, never having the comfort of home at the end of the day.

Your question, which had been making a home out of his skeleton by now. 

“When you asked me if I love you. If I did enough to stay.”

You remembered that. It was a last ditch effort—perhaps a manipulative way to make sure he stays. It was a question you regretted asking. Because Simon is Simon, and there were more lives at stake than making sure your pretty little heart stays unbroken.

“I didn’t mean to ask that. Simon, it was wrong of me-“

“Yes, I do.” His answer resolute. That was to be his last mission, and he decided the minute the door closed on him when he left the flat that day. His last, and he’s going home—and if he’s lucky, you would still be there for him. 

Simon straightened and this time, took you in his lap. When you didn’t fight, he leaned down and hesitated for a kiss over your lips.

When you reciprocated, his tears fucking fell, seasoning the kiss with its salty essence. 

But you didn’t pull away. You kissed him, and every inch of his face, paying extra attention to the fresh scar on his jaw.

You pulled back from the kiss when you started losing breath. 

“You do?” You ask, suddenly remembering the velvet box next to his dog tag resting on the dresser beside the bed. Your eyes slid to it.

Simon’s eyes followed the direction yours went.

Fuck, he thought, forgetting that he had intended to propose right after his last mission. Well, apparently the secret’s out.

“I do, I love you. And I will make sure to not make you doubt me anymore. I love you, darling. You keep my head above water.”

Perhaps it will take time to go back to the way it was. Time, and lots of outside help.

After all, there would be no sunrise without the darkest of nights.

“And you keep my feet on the ground. I love you too, Simon.”

[sunlightmurdock]

My Future in You | 2.1 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

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Synopsis: Bradley’s twenty-two years old and not where he’s supposed to be. He’s supposed to be out of the academy by now. Instead, he’s retaking his senior year of college and praying to god that he gets into flight school. Mav’s gone, his mom’s gone. He’s mad at the world. Then, a hook up at a Halloween party changes his future even more than he could have imagined.

Warnings: accidental pregnancy, references to abortion in a few chapters, angst, will be fluff eventually, will be smut so 18+, enemies to lovers kinda thing, requited love but they’re idiots your honour

…

Bradley wanders through the house, whistling as he goes. It’s maybe a little too quiet, but he’s not complaining. At first, he assumes that you’ve gone to the store or to the park — then he remembers why he’s home early today. It’s Thursday. Lamaze. After you had made such a big deal about the two of you going, there’s no a chance in hell that you would’ve forgotten that it was today.

Dropping his bag to the ground, he rolls his shoulders back and stretches his arms over his head. Spending all day in that stuffy-ass classroom, in this heat, was torture. He’s still trying to wake himself up after that boring day.

His whistling stops as he continues through the apartment, trailing his fingertips along the wall. He glances into the kitchen — no sign. Following forwards, he next checks the baby’s room.

“Hey, Seresin! — You home?”

You scowl at the way he chooses to address you. One hand rested on your swollen stomach, your eyes darken, features stormy as he rounds the corner into the nursery.

“Hi.” He gives you a nod of acknowledgement, leaning against the doorframe, chewing on a piece of gum. He looks handsome, standing there in his flightsuit with a neat, white t-shirt on under it.

“Bradshaw.” You answer him begrudgingly, hoping he takes offence to it as much as you do. Six weeks away from bringing his child into the world and he still calls you by your surname.

His grin falters as he lifts his arm and checks his watch. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready? — That class starts in like forty minutes.”

“Yes.” You reply, continuing to fold the muslins on the ground like that is all part of the plan. His brows scrunch softly — you’re never late and you definitely weren’t this chilled out about the class last night.

“So…?” He prompts you. Your face creases with irritation, calmly folding the cloths, avoiding his gaze.His face drops in realisation, breaking into a delighted grin. “You can’t get up.”

“Yes, I can. I just don’t want to.” You bite back instantly. His grin widens.

“I’ll give you twenty dollars if you stand up right now.” Digging his hand into his pocket, he goes for his wallet, amusement dripping from that shit-eating grin on his face. Your hand balls into a koala printed linen cloth as you lift your gaze and glare at him.

“Why would I want twenty dollars from you?”

You would think that he would know better than to taunt a woman as pregnant as you are, but he continues anyway, his laugh practically a giggle as he urges you on. “I’ll go down on you the second we get home. Stand up.”

You hiss in annoyance, balling the cloth in your hand and launching it at his head. “Get out of my face, I swear to god — you make me want to hit you with things.”

He doubles over laughing, knowing that you just proved his point. Clutching a hand over his chest, he drops to his knees in front of you, cheeks red and flushed with delight. Your scowl twitches. Still laughing, he leans in closer across your criss-crossed legs. “Baby, that is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. Let me help you.”

“I don’t need your help.” You frown at him, lips practically pouted. Bradley grins, darting forwards to peck your pouted lips softly. He slips his hands into yours and stands back up, pulling you with him. You groan in complaint and breathe out hard, immediately dropping his hands and resting them against the small of your back.

“You sore?” Bradley asks, brows scrunching softly. You huff, brushing past him calmly and heading for the bathroom.

“Always.”

“Wanna shower together? — Save some time?”

“I don’t think it would save any time.” You reply, walking ahead of him. You leave the bathroom door open behind you anyway. As annoying as he is, you can’t pretend that he doesn’t look especially handsome in his flightsuit.

Now at the end of his second week, he has eased into the adjustment of flight school with more ease than he had your pregnancy. Like he was born to do it.

Bradley hears the water start to run and ducks into the bathroom, glancing down to find your shorts and tank top already discarded on the tile floor.

“Are you coming or what?” Your voice comes from behind the shower curtain.

He grins again. Making quick work of his flightsuit and kicking his boots off, he tugs his way out of the rest of his clothes. Stepping into the shower behind you, he presses his lips to the curve of your neck. He exhales slowly as he gives his arms a gentle squeeze around your middle.

“How was work today?” You rest your head against his shoulder as he smooths his palm over your stomach and then wraps his arms around your middle. He hugs himself closer to you, humming in quiet contentment.

“Was alright,” He tells you softly, turning his face into the curve of your neck and kissing your skin softly. “How was your day?”

“Slow,” You answer him, reaching forwards to grab your body wash. “This kid has me moving like a sloth, and my hips are killing me.”

His hands slide lower on your middle and you almost open your mouth to scold him. He hooks his hands under the bottom of your stomach and braces some of the weight of it under his palms. “Couple more weeks, baby.”

You close your eyes, lingering on the feeling of his chest against your back and the borderline weightless feeling that rushes through you without the added weight in your middle.

He turns his face into the crook of your neck, kissing tenderly at the damp skin. As much as you try to keep your mind level, you find yourself pressing back into him.

“We can’t be late for our first class.” You remind him quietly. He strokes your hair back away from your neck, free hand curling around your hip.

“How ‘bout I just get you off?” He asks, pressing his chest firmer against your back. Your brows furrow slightly, wondering when that happened. When this development had occurred. A few months ago, you’re certain that he never would have offered this. Maybe you just didn’t know him that well back then. Or maybe he didn’t like you that much.

“Baby?” He reminds you to answer him. You whine softly at the realisation that you’re standing there like an idiot, frozen with anticipation.

“We really don’t have time.” You’re just as disappointed to say it as he is to hear it. His hands slide along your front and cup your swollen breasts cautiously, pressing his lips to your neck.

He hums quietly and presses himself against your ass, letting you feel that he’s half-hard. Your hand rests against the bathroom tile, head leaned back against his shoulder. Shitty, first-home kind of bathroom tile. You hope that you’ll remember this. Young, dumb and about to miss your first lamaze class for a quickie against some shitty, first-home kind of bathroom tile.

It turns out that the teacher is running late because of a flat tire — not that you were that late to begin with, Bradley’s already insisting that he knows the fastest ways around town.

He grabs the door and swings it open, balancing your bag on his shoulder and the yoga mat under his arm as he gestures for you to go first. White t-shirt, black gym shorts, still wet curls tucked under a white and green Philadelphia Eagles cap.

He has complimented your sundress six times since you put it on. You can’t pretend that it doesn’t inflate your ego to have him fawning over you. That you don’t love looking in the mirror and smoothing a hand over your ever-growing stomach, delighted with everything that your body has done for you so far.

“So, those are, like, flowers on it? — Roses?” His eyes are on your ass as you walk into the studio, two steps ahead of him. The door swings shut behind the two of you, air conditioning chilling your warm skin. You glance back at him and shrug.

“I thought they were birds.” As you turn back, you notice that a few couples have turned around to look at you.

There are maybe twelve couples in the class. You’re the last to arrive. You’re the youngest by maybe a decade. Your partner almost trips over you because he’s too busy trying to figure out if the pattern stretched over your ass is birds or roses to notice that you’ve stopped walking.

“There’s space here.” He doesn’t notice the change in your demeanor, as quietly confident as always, leaning over your shoulder to peck your cheek and then set up.

Silently, you’re reminded of the cruelest thing that you have said to Bradley. That you don’t want your son to be anything like him. Laying in the hospital, sobbing, terrified of raising someone that could be half as brash and thoughtless as their father.

You watch him now, setting your bag down and rolling out the mat, wordlessly taking your hand and helping you sit. He is completely unaware of the looks that you just received. Maybe he didn’t notice, maybe he just didn’t care. Thoughtless — no. His thoughts are in the right place, his focus is entirely on you and him.

“You’re right, they’re birds.” Bradley decides as he sits down behind you, bracketing your thighs with his and resting his chin against your shoulder. You rest your hands against his knees, squeezing softly. He smooths his hands over the material. “Did you want to get dinner after this?”

His heart beats steadily against your back, the warmth of his cheek resting against the curve of your neck. You trail your fingers in a circle over each of his knees.

“Like a date?”

His brows scrunch. In fact, he almost scoffs. “If you want to call it that.”

Your touch slows, teeth sinking into the inside of your cheek softly. You shrug your shoulders and rest your hands in your lap, “Yeah, if you’re hungry.”

Things with Bradley are complicated. Nothing about the seven months that you have known him has been simple. But, living with him has introduced a whole new influx of challenges. You sleep in his bed, you fuck in his shower — and in most areas of the apartment, for that matter — and you are having a baby together. All signs point towards monogamy.

But, you aren’t going to be the idiot that assumes and gets their heart stepped on.

You decided a few nights ago that you were going to stop sleeping with him until your relationship was defined. You had then woken up to him spooning you; your pregnancy hormones made quick work of dismantling the pact that you had made with yourself.

It says something about you, doesn’t it? — That you’ll carry his child but you won’t put your foot down and ask what you are to him. Truthfully, both answers to that question seem a little bit terrifying. You’re his girlfriend, or you aren’t.

“Hi, nice to meet you,” You’re snapped from your daydream by the stock-image looking couple situated to your left. A smiling blonde woman and her dark-haired husband, looking at you like they’re being paid to be this friendly. “I’m Mark, this is my wife Zara.”

Interesting name for a stock-image woman. You remind yourself that being mean on the inside won’t make you look any friendlier on the outside and force a quick smile. Bradley listens politely as you introduce the two of you to this new couple.

It occurs to him in that moment, that he’s probably going to have to have parent friends. Grown-ups whose shitty kids he has to pretend to like, or carpool places. Maybe he should get into golf or something.

You don’t ask them what they do for work, but Mr. Stock-Image decides to tell you anyway. “I’m in cardiology, my wife’s in a law firm.” Dr. Stock-Image.

He gestures between the two of them and they beam over at you, his hand stretching down to cover her bump. “This is our first, we wanted to wait until the right moment to start trying.”

Bradley exhales an obnoxious sound from behind you and claps a hand down onto your shoulder. Breathing out slowly, you close your eyes and wait for what you know is coming next. “Man, I hate to think of what we could’ve done if we had been trying.”

Smoothing your hand along his knee, you catch hold of a couple of leg hairs and pinch. He places his hand on top of yours and moves it back into your lap.

“So, um, how did you guys meet?” Dr. Stock-Image tries to revive the flow of conversation, that perpetually friendly look coating his features. His wife hasn’t said anything yet, she just keeps on smiling like something from the Stepford Wives.

“Funny story, actually.” Bradley beams. Your eyes widen as you move for a quick intercept before he has a chance to say what he’s going to say. There are supposed to be three more classes after this, you can’t take him making things awkward on the first day.

“Just through college.”

Mark nods calmly. Finally, his beaming wife chips in, “So, have you been together long?”

You almost wince. You’re certain that the couple notices. Exhaling slowly, keeping your smile tight-lipped and polite, you shake your head. You won’t make a fool of yourself by saying maybe three weeks — as long as you’ve been in Pensacola, and you definitely won’t let Bradley have to correct you later on. “We aren’t together.”

He doesn’t say anything. Through the hour long class, you’re left wondering if it’s because he agrees or if it’s because you have annoyed him. Sitting on the hood of the bronco, finishing off some fries in front of the beach, he confirms that it’s the latter.

“Did you mean what you said in that class?”

You wrap your lips around your straw and sip at your sprite, shrugging your shoulders as nonchalantly as your body will allow. Pensacola’s not your favourite place, you already know that you won’t be here for longer than you have to be, but it does have some pretty sunsets. You’re grateful for that. It gives you something to look at other than him.

“I didn’t want to assume anything, especially in front of strangers.” You aren’t looking for an argument, or a broken heart. Your approach is tender-footed, cautious. It makes Bradley’s heart sink to realize that you feel that way. He glances across at you and then looks back towards the beach.

“I assumed.” He admits, leaning back on his palms. You turn your head to look at him. He presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek. Before, Bradley knows that he would have been mad about this. Embarrassed. He’s still a little embarrassed. But he understands your caution.

Things have been rocky between the two of you. Not so much since you got here. Bradley has adored these past three weeks. He was sitting in a pre-flight lecture the other day and thinking about how shitty it would be, coming home to that empty apartment. Maybe going out to bars on weekends and trying to score girls, living off of ready meals because cooking for one just isn’t worth it.

Instead, he gets to come home to you, and laugh at you for being so pregnant that you get stuck on the ground. To watch movies with you in the evenings, or for you to tell him about the book you’re reading because you know that he doesn’t have the attention span to finish it himself, so he doesn’t mind the spoilers.

His favourite part is those late talks with you. When the baby is keeping you awake, and he’s almost asleep already, but you’re just talking. Asking him questions to keep him with you, letting him smooth his hands over your skin. He loves the things that you come up with just to keep him awake.

“Would you… want us to be together?” Bradley asks gently.

You close your eyes. You had been hoping that this decision wouldn’t fall down to you, because you’re half-certain that somewhere along the way, you’ve fallen in love with him. It dawned on you two days ago. He got home early from work and cooked for you — it had surprised you.

You had always thought that he was the kind of guy that would burn toast. He admitted that he probably only knows two recipes, but it had surprised you. The grin on his face when you had admitted that it was good, it sparked butterflies in your stomach that you had thought were just rumours.

“I mean, do you?”

“Yeah.” Bradley’s answer is maybe a second too quick, but not urgent. You’ve got a feeling that if you told him no, he would still do his best to accept your answer.

“So, I’d be your girlfriend?” You turn your head towards him and raise your eyebrows. He adjusts the brim of his cap to protect his eyes from the sun, casting a shadow over their honeyed hue, then nods his head. Your lips quirk softly. You lean into him. “I think I could put up with that.”

Bradley smiles across at you, all golden skin and golden eyes — annoyingly handsome in this oranged tint. He flattens his palm against the hood and leans across to kiss you. Soft, slow, and he pulls back to look at the sky again. There is a moment’s silence between the two of you.

“Lamaze was boring as fuck, by the way,” He decides finally, grabbing his soda from beside you. “You didn’t tell me that it was just going to be an hour of breathing for dummies.”

Lips quirking, you sip at your sprite again. He’s right. It kind of was for dummies, and all of the information in there was available on youtube anyway. You didn’t want to go back anyway.

“There are parenting classes there on Tuesdays, do you think we should just go to those instead?”

Bradley gives a quick shrug of those broad shoulders and dips his fries into his ketchup. “What does that teach?”

“Um, diapers, swaddling, bathing them — nursing and stuff, I’m not sure.” You list off as much as your brain will allow you to recall at this point in your pregnancy. There’s more, but there is no point trying to search your brain for that information now.

“What’s swaddling?”

…

Tags:

@thedroneranger @chaoticweirdogeek @alanadetigy @itsmytimetoodream @oldnatgwenaccount @khaylin27 @bioodforbiood @luckyladycreator2 @mizzzpink @mak-32 @cherrycola27 @unordinare @shanimallina87 @heli991113 @ghxst-heart @momc95 @asteria33 @lilyevanswhore @diamond-3 @galaxy-moon @jostyriggslover96 @forgiveliv @shawnsblue @little-wiseone @lovemesomevesey @averyhotchner @diorrfairy

[forlovvers]

( always )

pair: ex!jay x gn!reader | genre: fluff/angst idk | warning(s): none! | wc: 800 ish | synopsis: in which you and jay see each other for the first time in three years. 

lynne’s notez🗒️: jay is very always by daniel caesar coded

your late nights consisted of grocery shopping because you never had time to make the trip during the day. you think you prefer it like this; quiet and unoccupied, just some older ladies here and there. 

you walk down the aisles, shopping cart full of miscellaneous items. you reach into your jacket pocket and rummage around to pull out a crumpled letter and your grocery list. huh. you hadn’t even realized you had had that in there.

regardless, you stuff the letter back into your pocket and unfold your grocery list. you read down your list and make a mental notes of the few things you needed left. you make a turn into the next aisle and see the next item you need at the top-most shelf. 

you internally groan. top shelves were your number one enemy.

you outstretch your arms and as best as you could, you just barely touch the item. you let out a big huff and try again.

“do you need help?” the familiar voice asks, and you want to turn to look at who it belonged to but the man gently grabs the sides of your waist and moves you aside. the action is short, but it leaves you feeling a little dizzy.

“here you go,” he turns to you to hand you the item when his voice trails off. you’re met with the kind eyes of jay park. his hair is tousled and blonde. he looks the same for the most part, just a bit more into his features. his oversized bomber jacket really sticks out and his sleeves are rolled up to reveal his arms.

it had been three years since you last saw him. you remember the day clearly when you told him you were leaving for the states and didn’t plan on coming back. jay had been in your apartment, making dinner when you dropped the news. you remember him asking “did i do something wrong?”

in fact, it had nothing to do with him. and everything to do with yourself. he didn’t even say goodbye at the airport when you left, but when you got on the plane, there was a small piece of parchment stuck in your wallet. it was a love letter, signed off by jay.

beating yourself up over losing the love of your life was your routine for the next three years. most of your days in the beginning consisted of wondering what he was up to, did he think about you like you did him? eventually, you had to let him go. 

but here, in this grocery store, jay stands tall before you.

“i didn’t know you were back in town.” jay laughs awkwardly, handing you the item. you accept it and his hands brush over your skin, sending shockwaves to your brain. 

“yeah, i got back a week ago.” you say, for some reason you can’t look him in the eyes. he nods profoundly and when you turn away to start walking, he follows. his steps soon fall into sync with yours.

“how long are you back in town for?” jay asks, his voice honey like you’d always loved.

“i’m not sure. i wanted to see my parents.” you respond. you pick something off the shelves and place it in the cart to distract yourself from your thundering heart.

“ah,” his voice is thick with disappointment. jay can’t help but stare at your profile, and suddenly it feels like you’re both seventeen again. “i wrote that song you were always convincing me to write.” he says, diverting the attention away from the topic.

“oh really?” your words are piqued with interest and for the first time since that night three years ago, you look him in the eyes. you knew jay loved music. it traveled in his veins and pumped his blood, but he wasn’t too sure on pursuing it. you were always trying to get him to go further with his music, although he never quite got there.

“what’s it about?”

“oh um,” jay sheepishly rubs his nape. “it’s about you.”

you swear time slows and jay stops and turns fully to look at you. your breath hitches, yet he continues. “i was losing my head over you and needed to get it out.” 

“look y/n, it’s really great to see you again, and all i’ve done is think about you for the past three years.” jay steps forward, closer to you. “but i can give you time and space, just let me know if you want to talk things out, because i still love you.” there’s a fond smile on his lips as he opens your hand and places a small crumpled piece of paper, written in messy handwriting his new number and,

“i’ll always be here.”

[hlficlibrary]

Hi darling,

Hope your doing great!

Please please can you suggest fics that have detective / FBI harry ( as a top too). I know I read a few, but I would so appreciate a comprehensive list ❤️🫡. Thank you and have a great day ! Xx

Hi, anon! I was away in Mexico seeing Louis so I've been amazing lol, but now I'm back and can start on the asks that have piled up a bit. So here are some fics that fit what you're looking for...I'm assuming you don't mind the British version of this kind of fic...

 I’ll Throw Away My Faith (Just To Keep You Safe) by @theboyfriendstagram

AU. Harry Styles is an MI6 agent on a mission to find out who’s planning on killing the Prime Minister. Louis Tomlinson is a wanted professional assassin, hired by the MI6 to kill whoever wants to kill the Prime Minister. Louis doesn’t do relationships but he does Harry. Featuring Niall as their handler, Liam as Harry’s boss and Zayn as his sidekick.

It’s Only Sunny Cause the Planet’s Dying by LetTheMusicMoveYou / @letthemusicmoveyou28

The man leans back in his chair and looks down at the tarot cards in front of him. “Wow, that was really impressive. How long did it take you to memorize all this bullshit?” He raises a brow and that challenging look is back on his face, but he’s not even bothering to mask it this time.

It makes Louis’ blood run cold. “I beg your pardon?”

The man chuckles, but there’s no humor in it. “If you take a peek in my wallet that you just stole, you’ll see there’s a detective’s badge in there. Why don’t you come on down to the police station with me and you can explain your methods to me there?”

(Or the one where Louis is a thief and a con-artist who’s used to getting what he wants, using any means necessary. And Harry is is the straight-laced detective who might just be tired of always doing the right thing).

How Many Secrets Can You Keep? by thecheshirepussycat / @the-cheshire-pussy-cat

Being a spy meant always keeping your emotions in check. It looked and sounded good in theory, but in practice things like soulmates and trusted bonds of friendship got in the way. The real key to being a spy was keeping your emotions a secret.

Or: Harry and Louis are partners and agents for MI6, but their worlds are torn apart when Harry goes rogue.

Into This Mess by crimsontheory / @ireallysawanangel

The first day of Louis’ promotion is going well, far better than he expected. That is until his new partner shows up, who just so happens to be the guy who stumbled half-dressed out of his flat that same morning.

Or the enemies to lovers detective AU.

Angel of Small Death and the Murder Scene by lousmoonshine

Ever since Louis read about the new up and coming Detective in town, he had immediately disliked the man, despite never having met him. So, naturally, it can only be the worst thing that could have happened to Louis when he gets stuck with Detective Styles trying to solve a murder during his supposed to be relaxing vacation over the seas.

MISSING by aace1234

Louis brothers report Louis missing after they can’t get hold of him for 24hours

Harry Styles and Charlie Stone, detectives of the teenage homicide and missing persons division, are long time friends of the Tomlinson's and take the case.

Angst, Fluff and Drama ensued

[spacefinch]

Incorrect Quotes, featuring my Star Wars OCs

(And a few canon characters)

Iris: My goal is not to be the best, but to inspire someone enough to one day surpass me.

Suzume: YOU CAN'T JUST SAY THAT EVERY TIME YOU BEAT ME AT CONNECT FOUR!

*Toji is considering cancelling plans, and Suzume and Sinker are advising them on what to do*

Suzume: Just don't go.

Sinker: Say you’re ill!

Suzume: Pretend to break your leg.

Sinker: Really break your leg!

Iris: If you had to choose between Asio and all the money I have in my wallet, which would you choose?

Sinker: That depends, how much money are we talking about?

Asio: Sinker!

Iris: 63 cents.

Sinker: …I’ll take the money.

Asio: SINKER!!!

Sinker: You know, studies show that keeping a ladder in the house is more dangerous than a loaded gun.

Sinker: That's why I own TEN guns.

Sinker: Just in case some maniac tries to sneak in with a ladder.

Asio: How would you like your coffee?

Sennek: As dark and as bitter as my soul.

Asio, shouting to someone behind the counter: I need one vanilla latte with extra cream and sugar!

Toji: I am a responsible adult!

Asio: *raises brow*

Toji: I am an adult.

Toji: If Iris and I were drowning, who would you save?

Sennek: You two can’t swim?

Toji: It’s a hypothetical question, Sennek! Who would you save?

Sennek: My time and effort.

Iris: Truth or dare?

Suzume: Truth.

Iris: How many hours have you slept this week?

Suzume:

Suzume: Dare.

Iris: Go to sleep.

Suzume: I don't like this game.

Sennek: Why is there blood everywhere?

Iris: I may have aggressively poked someone with a knife.

Sennek: You stabbed someone?!

Iris: No, no. I aggressively poked someone with a knife.

Sennek: Ah shit, I forgot.

Suzume: Forgot what?

Sennek: How do you expect me to answer that?

Sennek: Asio, I beg of you. Please, PLEASE go to the doctor.

Asio: Hey, I'm sorry. Is this OUR stab wound?

Toji: You shouldn't be using a straw.

Suzume: I know, I know, it's bad for the environment and stuff.

Toji: Yeah, but I mean... it's a weird way to eat spaghetti.

Iris: We all have our demons.

Iris, grabbing Suzume: This one’s mine.

Asio: You borrowed a crane?

Suzume: Not exactly.

Sinker: You stole a crane?!

Suzume: Exactly.

Asio: “I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy” I would. Pussy.

Asio: “I’m not gonna sink to their level” I will. Coward.

Asio: “I’m the bigger person” I’m 150cm tall give me the gun bitch.

Toji: *sighs*

Suzume: You bored?

Toji: Yeah.

Suzume: Wanna start drama for no reason?

Toji: I thought you’d never ask.

[spinningbuster98]

Ratchet & Clank Part 1: In a galaxy far,far away...

Ok disclaimer: I am not a long time Ratchet & Clank fan, in fact I only got into the games roughly a year ago and even then it’s only the PS2 games since I have no means to play the rest. So I can’t claim to be an expert at these games. Regardless I quite enjoyed my time with them so I figured I’d make some videos on them

So what’s Ratchet & Clank all about? Well when it comes to the original game I should be clear that many of the things I’ll say about this one will not necessarily always apply to the other games.

Ratchet 1 is a game I like to compare to Sonic 1: both games created the fundamental aspects of each series but they also play pretty differently than later games. Much like how Sonic 1 plays more like a traditional 2D platformer that just happens to go fast every so often, Ratchet 1 plays less like the fast paced, high octane run and gun platformers that are the later Ratchet games, and more like a typical 3D collectathon platformer that happens to have some measure of gun play, though perhaps it’ll be best to explain that aspect better at a later time

So how do levels work here? Well typically you land on a planet and each planet features multiple sections or “obstacle courses” as I like to call them. Think of them as seperate levels all connected by a common hub area, once you pick a path you’ll follow it until you reach its end where the game will always provide you with some form of shortcut to the initial area so you can go choose another path.

At the end of each “course” you’ll generally find either a weapon, a gadget you’ll need to progress through the game or an Infobot containing the coordinates to another planet

Finding each major objective is no biggie because they’re clearly marked on the map as question marks, the focus is more on the challenges you’ll face along the way. I’ll just say that Ratchet 1 has by far the most thought out level design of the PS2 games mainly due to its heavy emphasis on pure platforming, and it can certainly get pretty varied, especially with the environments due to the whole planet switching stuff. I like to think of it as Metroid Prime 3 but cartoony and with furries and with anti-capitalist satire.

Bolts are really important as they act as currency here. You can find them lying around, dropped by dead enemies and inside crates ripped straight out of Crash Bandicoot. Always try to get as many bolts as you can, not just because you’ll need them to buy new weapons but also because well....let’s just say this game is very good at emptying your wallet and leave it at that for now

In the meantime please jam to Planet Veldin’s theme!

(Also that’s Clancy Brown voicing Chairman Drek, aka Dr.Cortex’s old voice. He kinda steals the show a bit)

[trshltna-blog]

you want to play? LET'S PLAY *chamber misses shot and then teleports like a coward he is*

This is a post to explain how glad I am that Chamber got nerfed because his ultimate annoys me. Just kidding. Chamber mains please don't come for me.

I love playing games. And the huge irony is that I'm not even the person who played games her entire life. I only started during the pandemic because I had literally, nothing else to do. I started off right the bat with player vs player shooter game called PUBG on mobile. I'd spend my nights until 5am even playing with my friends who I barely talk to now. Gosh, sometimes I miss it. Those were the best times.

Then I moved on to games like Genshin Impact, which I still do play now. But Genshin's more of an open-world action role-playing game that digs deeper into storyline and lore.

Now, I wanna talk about Valorant. Valorant is something like PUBG, but can only be played through your desktop, preferably if you run by Windows. It's also first person shooter (FPS) and you get to choose a character you want to play for each game, with their own unique powers and ultimates.

I love hate this game.

I say this because while I've had fun 60% of the time I've played, the other 40% is due to how toxic the players can get, how much anger this game can fuel a player and also because of how much I've spent. RIP wallet- but I do believe money comes and goes, happiness is forever :D.

Much like PUBG, I've spent sleepless nights during my semester break playing Valorant. Another huge irony is that even though this game stresses me out, I also come by to play 1 match to release stress. It's so weird. Maybe it's because I have friends to play with, which makes the whole thing even better. In terms of communicating with the team, it's also much preferable if it's your friends because we would want to work together instead of suddenly going the other way. As what they call it in game, 5 stacking for competitive.

Somehow, the validation through this game fuels me. Not in terms of rank, but knowing I was a team player throughout the game and my shots were not missed. I'm not that great at the game considering this old laggy laptop that constantly crashes when I do heavy work or play constantly without rest. Yet, I'd try to do my best like any other thing I'm trying to do too. I don't play duelist because I'm not the type to rush, I prefer to main someone like Fade who takes care of intel and defense. I'd say I'm more of a mid tier in most team scoring, but that's okay.

Oh, but I'm so tired of people bossing me around and telling me to heal or revive them when I clearly am in front of 2-3 enemies. So no more covering healer Sage from me.

What's not okay? Is having a superiority complex in the game and thinking you play better than anyone else. This has lead to many previous toxic matches I've played in mainly due to duelists or anyone who just thinks that everyone else is lower than them. It's so annoying, I want to play a game where I know everyone is on par with me, trying their best to win, not skanky 'know-it-alls'. What's worse is that their toxicity can effect others in the team too which causes them not to want to play and go AFK (away from keyboard). Honestly, how can they not? It's really discouraging to be matched with a teammate who only thinks of themselves and constantly bosses around their own teammates.

So far, Riot (the company Valorant is in) has strictly added features to report players which can ban them from playing Valorant for a span of time. I think this is good, however, they would easily just make another account and start doing the same thing again. Then, the cycle continues...report, get banned, make a new account. I would say these people are just trolls at this point because how can you be so low?

On my side however, it's still a relief that online perspective still keeps you on a safe distance so these people will never be able to attack me. Game after game, it's a sad reality that I've gotten used to the toxic community on Valorant, but I do believe this happens in every single game. Sometimes, I get matched with the sweetest people ever who cheer on you when you clutch, get a few kills and even support your almost to ace.

So yeah, even though there's the negative side of the gaming community, there are also people who play just as nice as I do, and that's okay. That's truly enough.

Also, look at this. It's canon! Raze and Killjoy of Valorant are officially together! <3

#mda20009 #week10 #socialgaming

[biblenewsprophecy]

Archbishop Viganò: ‘The globalist cabal want to establish the kingdom of the Antichrist on earth’ and refers to Pope Francis’ church as ‘false’

COGwriter

The Roman Catholic LifeSiteNews posted the following:

Archbishop Viganò: ‘The globalist cabal want to establish the kingdom of the Antichrist on earth’

March 14, 2024

Archbishop Carlo Maria Viganò wrote …

Dear Friends, …

What appears today in all its evidence is the subversive plan of a global coup d’état, aimed at the decimation of the world population and the enslavement of the survivors. The pressure for the approval of the WHO Pandemic Treaty and for the health passport – accompanied by the activation of the digital wallet – demonstrate that the authors of this coup have no intention of giving up their criminal intentions, and will not do so unless they are faced with firm and determined opposition from the population and those few of its representatives who are not sold out to the World Economic Forum, by those who courageously do not fail in their duties.

We have seen the false Bergoglian church totally subservient to the genetic treatment agenda, a treatment that was produced using aborted fetuses. We have seen doctors and paramedics killing frail and elderly people in intensive care through the use of anesthesia. We have seen rulers, magistrates, and police forces unleash an unprecedented criminalization of those who did not allow themselves to be “marked.” We know who is behind these people, who pays them, and who blackmails them: their names are well known. These murderers will soon find themselves answering for their crimes, if not before the tribunal of the world, then certainly before God, whom they hate and whom they would like to replace, in a mad delirium of omnipotence that is an inexorable prelude to their eternal defeat. The children of darkness, the conspirators of the World Economic Forum, and the globalist cabal want to establish the kingdom of the Antichrist on earth, as an obscene counterfeit of the Kingdom of Christ Our Lord. … Our Lord said, “The truth will set you free.” He who said of Himself: “I am the Way, the Truth, the Life.” It is only the truth of Christ that can free us from the chains of lies and the falsity of the enemy of mankind. Therefore, fight this battle in the awareness that your and our adversary can only be defeated with the weapons of Truth. Saint Paul exhorts us, Do not let yourself be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good. Act with freedom within the bounds of what is good, and the Lord will bless your commitment, as he has always done throughout history for those who love Him and obey His commandments. If you yield on this, you will expose your flank to the Enemy, and all your effort will have been in vain. And remember the words of the Lord: “Do not be afraid, I have overcome the world.”

I bless you with all my heart.

+ Carlo Maria Viganò, Archbishop

https://www.lifesitenews.com/opinion/archbishop-vigano-the-globalist-cabal-want-to-establish-the-kingdom-of-the-antichrist-on-earth/?utm_source=featured-news&utm_campaign=usa

Yes, he is basically right about nearly all of that.

However, the globalist Antichrist power will rise up.

There will be signs and lying wonders and only people with sufficient love of the truth will not fall for it according to what the Apostle Paul was inspired to write:

9 The coming of the lawless one is according to the working of Satan, with all power, signs, and lying wonders, 10 and with all unrighteous deception among those who perish, because they did not receive the love of the truth, that they might be saved. 11 And for this reason God will send them strong delusion, that they should believe the lie, 12 that they all may be condemned who did not believe the truth but had pleasure in unrighteousness. (2 Thessalonians 2:9-12)

The globalists in Europe, including the World Economic Forum, the Vatican, the Freemasons, and others are pushing an agenda that will lead to the rise of the Beast and Antichrist who are warned about by writings by the Apostle John, such as the 13th chapter of the Book of Revelation.

Pope Francis’ given name was Jorge Mario Bergoglio. Archbishop Carlo Maria Viganò was right for condemning the false Bergoglian church, yet he has NOT tried to restore original Christianity.

Carlo Maria Viganò‘s group puts out something called The Remnant Newspaper.

The Remnant Newspaper says the following about itself:

The Remnant strives to adhere to Catholic teaching in every aspect of its journalism. There has been great upheaval and revolution within the Catholic Church over the past five decades — not unlike that encountered in the fourth century by St. Athanasius, called the Arian Heresy  …

The Remnant sees itself as one of the many voices crying out against abusive liturgical and doctrinal aberrations such as Clown Masses, women priests, Communion in the hand, erroneous Theology, abusive and sacrilegious liturgical innovations, the abandonment of preaching the Four Last Things, the denial of sin and hell, the rise of phony ecumenism (which states that there is little or no difference between Catholicism and Protestantism, or between Catholicism and Mohammedanism or any other monotheistic religion, and that all religions are good), the annulment abuse, the abuse of NFP, etc. …

We fight that which is novel and goes against the traditional Catholic liturgies and infallible teachings of the past. accessed 07/06/21 https://remnantnewspaper.com/web/index.php/more/about

Despite the above claims, the reality is that neither The Remnant nor Carlo Maria Viganò seem to understand what the original catholic Christian church taught on areas such as the liturgy, Godhead, salvation, etc.

However, we have a highly referenced free online book that does.

It is titled Beliefs of the Original Catholic Church.

Perhaps it should be pointed out that Protestantism also did NOT restore original Christianity either. Here is a link to a scripture and historical referenced filled, free online book: Hope of Salvation: How the Continuing Church of God Differs from Protestantism.

That said, we are getting closer to the reign of the Beast of Revelation 13:1-10 and the False Prophet Antichrist of 1 John 4:1-3 & Revelation 13:11-15.

It will take the return of Jesus to destroy that power. But that, too, will also happen:

11 Now I saw heaven opened, and behold, a white horse. And He who sat on him was called Faithful and True, and in righteousness He judges and makes war. 12 His eyes were like a flame of fire, and on His head were many crowns. He had a name written that no one knew except Himself. 13 He was clothed with a robe dipped in blood, and His name is called The Word of God. 14 And the armies in heaven, clothed in fine linen, white and clean, followed Him on white horses. 15 Now out of His mouth goes a sharp sword, that with it He should strike the nations. And He Himself will rule them with a rod of iron. He Himself treads the winepress of the fierceness and wrath of Almighty God. 16 And He has on His robe and on His thigh a name written:

KING OF KINGS AND LORD OF LORDS.

17 Then I saw an angel standing in the sun; and he cried with a loud voice, saying to all the birds that fly in the midst of heaven, “Come and gather together for the supper of the great God, 18 that you may eat the flesh of kings, the flesh of captains, the flesh of mighty men, the flesh of horses and of those who sit on them, and the flesh of all people, free and slave, both small and great.”

19 And I saw the beast, the kings of the earth, and their armies, gathered together to make war against Him who sat on the horse and against His army. 20 Then the beast was captured, and with him the false prophet who worked signs in his presence, by which he deceived those who received the mark of the beast and those who worshiped his image. These two were cast alive into the lake of fire burning with brimstone. 21 And the rest were killed with the sword which proceeded from the mouth of Him who sat on the horse. And all the birds were filled with their flesh. (Revelation 19:11-21)

15 Then the seventh angel sounded: And there were loud voices in heaven, saying, “The kingdoms of this world have become the kingdoms of our Lord and of His Christ, and He shall reign forever and ever!” 16 And the twenty-four elders who sat before God on their thrones fell on their faces and worshiped God, 17 saying:

“We give You thanks, O Lord God Almighty, The One who is and who was and who is to come, Because You have taken Your great power and reigned. 18 The nations were angry, and Your wrath has come, And the time of the dead, that they should be judged, And that You should reward Your servants the prophets and the saints, And those who fear Your name, small and great, And should destroy those who destroy the earth.”  (Revelation 11:15-18)

So, despite what is happening there will be good news as the millennial Kingdom of God will be established to replace the coming globalist dictator.

Related Items:

Some Doctrines of Antichrist Are there any doctrines taught outside the Churches of God which can be considered as doctrines of antichrist? This article suggests at least three. It also provides information on 666 and the identity of “the false prophet.” Plus it shows that several Roman Catholic writers seem to warn about an ecumenical antipope that will support heresy. You can also watch a video titled What Does the Bible teach about the Antichrist?

Europa, the Beast, and Revelation Where did Europe get its name? What might Europe have to do with the Book of Revelation? What about “the Beast”? Is an emerging European power “the daughter of Babylon”? What is ahead for Europe? Here is are links to related videos: European history and the Bible, Europe In Prophecy, The End of European Babylon, and Can You Prove that the Beast to Come is European? Here is a link to a related sermon in the Spanish language: El Fin de la Babilonia Europea.

Is a Great Reset Coming? Klaus Schwab of the World Economic Forum has proposed a societal change that has been basically endorsed by the Vatican and many world leaders. Does the Bible prophesy a major reset? Here is a link to a related video: Will there be a “Great Reset��?

Freemasonry and the Destruction of Rome? What is Freemasonry? What about ties to the Illuminati? Could they be involved in the fulfillment of prophecy? Here is a link to a related sermon: Freemasonry, Armageddon, and Rome.

Will the Interfaith Movement Lead to Peace or Sudden Destruction? Is the interfaith movement going to lead to lasting peace or is it warned against? A video sermon of related interest is: Will the Interfaith Movement lead to World War III? and a video sermon is also available: Do You Know That Babylon is Forming?

Armageddon Who is involved and when will this gathering happen? Here is also a video from Dr. Thiel, from Tel Megiddo in Israel: Armageddon. Another video is related to China’s One Belt, One Road Initiative (Silk Road project): watch Is China paving roads to Armageddon?

Satan’s Plan Does Satan have a plan? What is it? Has it already been successful? Will it be successful in the future? Here are links to a two-part sermon series: What are Some of the Parts of Satan’s Plan? and Satan’s Plan is More Dramatic than Many Realize.

Mystery of Iniquity What is the mystery of iniquity? How did it start? How will it end? Two related sermons are also available: The Mystery of Iniquity and The Mystery of Lawlessness.

Hope of Salvation: How the Continuing Church of God Differs from Protestantism The CCOG is NOT Protestant. This free online book explains how the real Church of God differs from mainstream/traditional Protestants. Several sermons related to the free book are also available: Protestant, Baptist, and CCOG History; The First Protestant, God’s Command, Grace, & Character; The New Testament, Martin Luther, and the Canon; Eucharist, Passover, and Easter; Views of Jews, Lost Tribes, Warfare, & Baptism; Scripture vs. Tradition, Sabbath vs. Sunday; Church Services, Sunday, Heaven, and God’s Plan; Seventh Day Baptists/Adventists/Messianics: Protestant or COG?; Millennial Kingdom of God and God’s Plan of Salvation; Crosses, Trees, Tithes, and Unclean Meats; The Godhead and the Trinity; Fleeing or Rapture?; and Ecumenism, Rome, and CCOG Differences.

Where is the True Christian Church Today? This free online pdf booklet answers that question and includes 18 proofs, clues, and signs to identify the true vs. false Christian church. Plus 7 proofs, clues, and signs to help identify Laodicean churches. A related sermon is also available: Where is the True Christian Church? Here is a link to the booklet in the Spanish language: ¿Dónde está la verdadera Iglesia cristiana de hoy? Here is a link in the German language: WO IST DIE WAHRE CHRISTLICHE KIRCHE HEUTE? Here is a link in the French language: Où est la vraie Église Chrétienne aujourd’hui?

Continuing History of the Church of God This pdf booklet is a historical overview of the true Church of God and some of its main opponents from Acts 2 to the 21st century. Related sermon links include Continuing History of the Church of God: c. 31 to c. 300 A.D. and Continuing History of the Church of God: 4th-16th Centuries and Continuing History of the Church of God: 17th-20th Centuries. The booklet is available in Spanish: Continuación de la Historia de la Iglesia de Dios, German: Kontinuierliche Geschichte der Kirche Gottes, and Ekegusii Omogano Bw’ekanisa Ya Nyasae Egendererete.

Beliefs of the Original Catholic Church: Could a remnant group have continuing apostolic succession? Did the original “catholic church” have doctrines held by the Continuing Church of God? Did Church of God leaders uses the term “catholic church” to ever describe the church they were part of? Here are links to related sermons: Original Catholic Church of God?, Original Catholic Doctrine: Creed, Liturgy, Baptism, Passover, What Type of Catholic was Polycarp of Smyrna?, Tradition, Holy Days, Salvation, Dress, & Celibacy, Early Heresies and Heretics, Doctrines: 3 Days, Abortion, Ecumenism, Meats, Tithes, Crosses, Destiny, and more, Saturday or Sunday?, The Godhead, Apostolic Laying on of Hands Succession, Church in the Wilderness Apostolic Succession List, Holy Mother Church and Heresies, and Lying Wonders and Original Beliefs. Here is a link to that book in the Spanish language: Creencias de la iglesia Católica original.

Did The Early Church Teach Millenarianism? Was the millennium (sometimes called chiliasm) taught by early Christians? Who condemned it? Will Jesus literally reign for 1000 years on the earth? Is this time near? Three related sermons are available Let’s Talk About the Earthly Millennium, Millennial Utopia, and The Millennium.

Could God Have a 6,000 Year Plan? What Year Does the 6,000 Years End? Was a 6000 year time allowed for humans to rule followed by a literal thousand year reign of Christ on Earth taught by the early Christians? Does God have 7,000 year plan? What year may the six thousand years of human rule end? When will Jesus return? 2031 or 2025 or? There is also a video titled: When Does the 6000 Years End? 2031? 2035? Here is a link to the article in Spanish: ¿Tiene Dios un plan de 6,000 años?

The Gospel of the Kingdom of God This free online pdf booklet has answers many questions people have about the Gospel of the Kingdom of God and explains why it is the solution to the issues the world is facing. It is available inover 1,000 languages at ccog.org. Here are links to four kingdom-related sermons:  The Fantastic Gospel of the Kingdom of God!, The World’s False Gospel, The Gospel of the Kingdom: From the New and Old Testaments, and The Kingdom of God is the Solution.

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[lovestoriestarot]

Icy Shots On A Hot Billionaire (Series)

Genres of the book: Billionaire Romance, Curvy Girl Romance, Mafia Romance, Dark Mafia Romance, Possessive Alpha Males, Strong Female Lead, Enemies to Lovers, Contemporary Romance, Romantic Comedy, Action, Comedy, Suspense, Mystery, Thriller, with the touch of the paranormal along the series, with a HEA.

All Rights ReservedIcy Shots On A Hot Billionaire Series, by Andra-Cristiana Stan, Romania. Copyright © October 2019. All Rights Reserved No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Chapter 1 – Coffee Is A Bitch…

Selena

“Jeez! Would you watch where you walk for a change?!” The hot brown content snakes down my shirt and skirt, drawing out a monster on me.

Why am I always met with such accidents?

“Sorry… I didn’t mean to… I was on my… Let me help you.” A nice lady in her early forties says, flustered on the event she caused, looking for something in her purse to give me.

“I-It’s okay… Sorry for yelling… I’m about to have an important meeting and this happens…” I take a napkin from a near empty table and I’m trying to clean myself a bit while the woman gives me one, too. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

“I’m really sorry. It’s my fault. I was reading my emails and didn’t see you. Here, let me pay for the cleaning.” She gets her wallet out, trembling a bit.

That’s strange. I know I have a killer look when I get mad, but I’m not a pulling-out-hair bitch. She didn’t see me? I’m no skinny one. I’m a 16 size for some loose ‘fabrics’ and 18 for others. Whatever… She looks nice and sorry.

“No, I don’t need that. Thank you. Let’s forget about it. I’m late for my meeting. Bye-bye.” I give her a quick smile and start to the café’s toilet to see the damage in plain sight.

The lady’s saying something to me in the background, but I don’t have time for other apologies and pleads for amends.

I enter the bathroom like a storm, scaring a young lady that is grooming at the mirror. I shoot a smile at her.

“Someone spilled coffee on me.” I say like she cares about that.

She gives me a weird look, packs her things and goes out, leaving me alone.

“Jesus Christ! How am I going to clean all this?”

My shirt, the front of my suit jacket, and skirt in diagonal are a mess. I’ve seen it earlier, but to see it in the mirror it’s pure horror.

My phone is buzzing.

“Great! Just great!” I get out my phone from my purse. It is Marta, my secretary.

Yeah, I’m a Marketing Manager at a big company, Donahue Estate Development. It’s my first month and meeting a big client today. He’s such a big of a client that some other four managers from our company are going to attend the meeting.

I take the call, fanning under my lips.

“You’re running late! The client is here! Jesse’s in heats around him! The Big Wolf is asking for you to take the meeting for presentation! Where are you?”

The Big Wolf is our 34-year-old playboy CEO. A muscled model with fine Greek God features, wavy black short hair, hazel eyes and exciting every girl that lays eyes on him. He’s always in an expensive tailored suit. Not me though. Jesse is the Planning Manager and the one that must have all the hot guys. The client must be hot.

“I’m at the coffee shop across the street. Haven’t slept all night, working. And someone spilled her entire coffee all over me. What am I going to do?” I send another look into the mirror, giving me cold shivers down my spine.

“What? Are you kidding? You should be here in five! They’re on to the meeting room!” She’s freaked out. If I lose my chair, she’s out, too. I hired her.

“But he’s earlier! It’s seven-thirty! The meeting was at eight!” I’m sure it’s at eight.

“I sent you a message last night. They changed it at seven-thirty. The guy is apparently besties with the Big Wolf, and they want to go and see a new land for investment together, after the meeting. Oh!” 

Why am I getting angry at this pause? 

“I didn’t send you the…”

“Marta?!” She always does that!

She’s young and she’s learning. She’s 21 and having a new boyfriend. She’s aloof, making everything hard for me sometimes. But she’s diligent to learn, so I don’t want to fire her.

“Sorry! I’ll make some excuses and you come as fast as you can!” And she abruptly ends the call. 

No, she didn’t!

My head is spinning, I’m sweating, and I could kill someone for real at this point. I’m still in the ‘testing’ period on my position. I haven’t had problems so far, but this could be one.

I take my purse and go out of the bathroom, on through the tables, turning around some heads at my sight for how I look with all the coffee on me, and go out. I really don’t feel embarrassment at this point. I see a clothes shop nearby and that’s my target.

“Hi!” I approach the lady there who gives me a weird look all over. “Do you have women’s suits like this one?” I’m pointing at the one I’m wearing.

“Not one that would be on your size, unfortunately.” I hate it when they say that. At least she doesn’t flash me the grimace of ‘you are fat’. “But we do have some casual clothes that might fit you well.” That’s a savior right there. “Would you want to try them?”

“Of course! Just give them to me! I’m pretty late for an important office meeting! I really need your help!” I kind of yell a bit because I feel like I’ll faint if I’m too late for the meeting.

She gives me a warm smile.

“Follow me then.” She takes me to the changing room. “Wait here. I’ll bring them right away. Any preferred color?”

“Black or dark blue. Thank you so much!” I smile at her with all my face but having a drummed heart.

After a few minutes, she comes back with black leggings in an office style, a black top having a dropped cleavage, office style again, and an over the bottom black jacket with one golden button to close it. Fine material and trendy for businesswomen. I wonder if I’ll fit in those and how much are those going to cost. Never mind. I’ll try them.

I dress up in a minute, at least that’s what I want to think it has been, and look at myself in the mirror.

“Can I see it?” The lady says outside the changing cabin. I open the door for her to give me the look. “Wow! You’re so hot in those! You look amazing! Why do you wear that ugly suit?! That’s a keeper on you!” She puts her hands over her mouth like she is Cinderella’s Godmother and genuinely smiling over my transformation.

Yeah, I look pretty hot for my figure. Don’t you think I’m the kind that has bulging fat. No. I have a defined S-shape figure (though I’m fat as I’m no Victoria Secret Angel), with a cute butt out, some breasts, not big ones, but they’re there, thick thighs and nice legs overall. I’m not a model, I know, but I’m OK. I do have a bit of belly out.

“So, I’m passable?” I really don’t want to make a wrong impression in the company, going out there with my fat screaming through my clothes. I do see it’s a perfect match on me, but a second, more objective, opinion is always welcomed.

“You’re more than passable! You look like on a magazine! But let your hair loose like this and you’re a doll!” She takes out my hair band and arranges my hair. “There! Everything’s perfect now!”

“Great! I trust and thank you! Let me pay it quickly!” I give her my dirty clothes as she has asked me and go with her at the cashier’s desk.

She puts my clothes in a shopping bag, takes the tags from the clothes on me, registers and swipes my credit card. Well, office credit card. I’ll have the accountant take a hit-and-run over me, but I’ll deal with that later.

“Here you go! Wish you good luck on your meeting!” She gives me everything and smiles.

“Thank you! Hope it will go well! You have a coffee from me later! Bye!” I rush out like crazy from the store and send a glance on my phone. 7:55. Shit!

In five minutes, I’m at the elevator to go to my office’s floor which is the tenth floor. The receptionist and the security guard say ‘hello’, but I just wave at them as I’m super late. Finally, I’m at my floor with Marta waiting for me at the elevator with my file and laptop.

“Give me those. Here’s everything. The Big Wolf is upset. I’ll be there, too. Go!” She gives me a look with a smirk when she realizes what I’m wearing and pushes me to go.

“He’s not going to be so upset anymore.” She grins. 

He’s going to be murderous in stares… I fucking know that… And the yelling will be present… It’s how he is… It’s my fucking luck for the day seemingly… Yeah…

I go with quick steps to the meeting room, already hearing Jessie’s high-pitched voice, sweet-talking what I think is the client. I knock on the door and enter. Everyone stops talking and all eyes are on me. Derek Donahue, our CEO, has the chair with its back at the door.

“It’s about damn time you…” And he turns around with the chair to criticize me but stops at the sight of me, scanning me from head to toes. 

I know… Sorry…

“So sorry. Traffic.” I ignore everyone’s stare, and he comes back to his senses while I go to my spot.

“Yeah,” he says, “this is Eric Rodricks, our client, CEO of Rodricks Real Estate Investments, and this is our Marketing Manager, Selena Dutchmond.”

The guy is hot, Adonis style, Greek God, towering, with beautiful dark blue eyes, chestnut wavy hair and a billionaire. That suit on him makes women stay at his feet. GQ magazine model. That’s why Jessie’s high-pitched voice has been on.

“Nice to meet you, sir.” I extend my hand.

He takes it and stares into my eyes with those ravishing waves he has into them, not letting go. I’m not intimidated. Jessie rolls her eyes and clears her throat while I’m trying to have my hand back. Jessie’s sending me spears across the room at this point.

“The pleasure is mine.” And I manage to take my hand back.

I sit on my chair, open the file, and then the laptop, starting the marketing presentation for him. Marta enters the room and sits on the chair behind me, near the projector, to work on the slide show while I speak.

I deliver all the information and I ask if there are questions or things that need to be changed. Eric is looking at me, laid back on his chair with his hand on his cheek, in a thinking pose. He has a smirk on his face. I guess he’s satisfied with the presentation.

“That’s interesting.” Eric says looking at Derek who’s staring at me. He does that often, but now it is longer than usual.

“What? Yeah. She’s our best.” He snaps out of whatever he has been thinking. “Anything you need a correction or addition on?”

“No. It’s fine. But I would want to have a word with you, alone.” He stares back at me like I’m under a metal detector. 

Take your fucking eyes off me, motherfucker… There’s nothing here for you… Just saying…

“If there’s anything, I’ll be in my office.” I say with a professional smile, standing up and leaving Marta to pack things up. “It has been a pleasure to work on this project, sir.” 

Not really, but anyways… 

I extend my hand for the final handshake.

He takes it in a strong grip, like trying to get a reaction from me. I’m reactionless as ice. 

You fucking sucker… I’m not a sucker for hotness or money… I don’t give a single fuck on you… Jessie though, she’s all there for you…

“You did a great job. Rarely I’m so impressed.” He gives a smile, landing his gaze on my lips. 

You’re so asking for it… But I’ll behave… Yeah… Let’s finish it already…

“Thank you, sir. Have a good day.” I try to take my hand back while he’s resisting. 

Don’t know for how long I’ll behave though… 

He lets go after a few good seconds to Jesse’s despair, who is still in the room with a short tight black dress and a white jacket on her to die for model body.

She is a Barbie doll all over. Even I, as a woman, could fall in love with her beauty. In the sense I would want to look like her. I’m not a lesbian, though many think I am. Why? Because I don’t have a boyfriend and I always keep it friend zone for males or strictly business. I don’t have time or want for a personal life.

I walk away and straight to my office. I need to drink something cold for the heated morning I’ve had since the coffee shop till present. 

Finally… I’m so fucking cursed… Good it finished…

My office is one with a view over New York City. I have a leather chair with a wide neat oak desk. There are a few framed posters with motivational quotes on the cream walls and a big library with books on law, management, marketing and economics. I’m 31. I have Law school and Finance-Banking-Accounting bachelor’s degrees. I may seem I have it all, but I don’t. I’m in huge shit and this job is the one that keeps me out of bankruptcy. Not all out, but it helps my financial situation a bit. But that’s a story for another time.

“Hey! You were awesome!” Says Marta, coming in with all the things, placing them on my desk. 

Yeah… Yay… Not awesome… I so hate everything, but I have no choice… You’re cute though… Kids… He, he, he…

“Thanks. I worked my butt off for that presentation. Can you bring me some cold Diet Pepsi, please? I’m so thirsty.” My mouth is dried out and I’m feeling hot. I hope my blood sugar levels aren’t too high. I’m a diabetic. Insulin dependent. Five shots a day. Stress increases my diabetes’ levels.

“Yeah, in a minute. No! You looked so sexy and like a vixen! That Eric guy couldn’t take his eyes off you! And Derek, too! Ouch! I see romance!” She’s grinning like a high school girl. 

Oh, Jesus… I know you’re a sucker for this kind of things, but it’s not MY thing…

“Stop dreaming. It’s normal they were staring at me. I was delivering the presentation. Now go and give me that drink. Don’t think I’ve forgiven you for the message.” I answer my ringing phone while she’s pouting, then puffs at me. Kids. 

I know, baby… I know… I’m not like you to be thrilled over such occurrences…

“Selena?” That’s my mom on the phone. I do hope nothing happened. She’s tensed.

“Yeah, mom. Everything okay?” I’m trying to keep my cool, but I can feel something happened. 

Hit me with it… I can take it…

“Sweetie? We are losing the house…” 

Shit! 

She starts crying on silent.

“Mom! Calm down! I’m coming over. Where are you?” I’m keeping an outside cool, yet inside I’m sinking.

The shit we’re in since the economic crisis, has all my family on the edge. We were rich people, at some level, not millionaires, but we had it going without lack of money. We had and still have construction companies. Small ones, but they were and are a family business. An investment project with bank loans among other such ‘sugary’, cut our throats financially and we’ve lost many things. The house is next. 

I saw it coming… Jesus Christ…

“At home. Your dad went crazy and I don’t know where he is. He can’t take it anymore! I think he’ll do something! Lord! Why is this happening to us?”

A tear escapes down my right cheek and my heart is in pieces for both my parents and for our family.

Marta comes in with my drink with widened eyes on how I may look at this point.

“Calm down, mom. I love you and everything will be fine. Dad’s going to be fine. I’ll be there right away. Wait for me, will you?” I’m still trying to keep my cool to make my mom feel she’s not alone and that she has a strong daughter to protect them.

Now do you understand why I give a shit on men and don’t want to get involved with them? Love is never going to help my situation, only complicate it.

“Yeah. Come safe, baby. Love you.” She hangs up crying. I’m all teary but not voicing it.

“What’s the matter? You look like shit. Here. Have a sip…” She gives me the drink, which I take and have some. I feel like yelling and raging out loud. 

This shit is never going to end….

“Nothing. Help me clear all the meetings today. I have some family problems which I can’t avoid. Send on my email all the work I need to do. Please, don’t forget anything, okay?”

Nobody in the office knows about my problems. They think I’m healthy, only fat, and living on high horses. That’s the image I’ve created. I stand up in a hurry and take my purse.

“Wait! Derek called. He wants to speak with you. Now.” She says, but I’m out through the door, not looking back.

When I reach the elevator, with my gaze down, I bump into someone.

“Oh! Sorry!” I look at the person I’ve bumped into. It’s Eric, followed by his men and having Derek beside him. 

I’m so fucking cursed… Should have realized since the coffee spilled on me moment… It was a bad omen for the fucked-up day… Only oh-so-good-news…

“It’s alright. Something happened?” He sends me a worried look seeing my probably red eyes. 

All the shit happened… And you were the last person on Earth that I wanted to see right now…

“Where are you going? Didn’t Marta tell you I’m expecting you in the office?” Derek is both pissed and worried. 

She did… But you’re not important at this point… I give a fuck on everything… My family comes first…

“Nothing happened.” I dismiss Eric with a cold voice. “Yes, she told me. I have some unexpected family situation and I have to leave for the day. You can cut my paycheck. I’ll still run all the work at home. Marta will send everything on my email. I really have to take a leave, sir. I’m not going to wait for your approval. If you consider you want to fire me over this, you can do it. I’ll understand. Have a good day, sir.”

I don’t give a shit at this moment if I lose my job as well. If I’m sinking, let it all sink. Why not? I can take it, right?

The elevator comes at perfect timing and I go in, leaving Derek with a dropped jaw and a what’s-going-on expression. Eric? I don’t know. I’ve totally ignored his presence. He’s not my boss. I go in and press the lobby button and the elevator closes with only me in it, which is great. 

The shit of my life is an ongoing story… I’m so perfect… 

======

You can go and read the next chapters for free on our website:

[swordduels]

No response to Eve’s education or job experience? It was somewhat tragic that the modern era of advanced technology and progress of human rights still had problems regarding sexist attitudes. Humanity should have evolved beyond prejudice based on appearance already. Granted, Circe might not be the right person to judge as she herself had some biased opinions towards men. Sure, there were one or two good examples of masculinity but they were few in between and her hostile opinions had yet to be disproven. Men in general still had a grab of society’s balls, so to speak and it stood in the way of brilliant minds making real change. Even if Regulus had changed appearance for whatever reason she was not working to solve problems but was reinforcing horrible attitudes. Circe kept smiling pleasantly towards Regulus while chewing on wet bread.For now it was unclear how much power Regulus had which was why she decided to avoid open hostility even though her passive aggressive behavior went ignored. Circe had to stop whatever foundation was worked on in here. The best bet was to take her down slowly and gradually to avoid a confrontation that could harm herself together with everyone else. Though as Circe looked around she started to suspect guests as well as customers somehow were connected to Regulus as their features had traces of her spell. It wasn’t exactly part of the original plan. She picked up a pocket mirror and studied her own reflection to see possible changes. After viewing herself from different angles and feeling shapes as well as skin it became clear the spell had not bounced back. Which probably meant that Regulus had yet to claim her heart for whatever reason. When hearing footsteps she put the mirror into Eve’s handbag and greeted Regulus with a smile. While doing so Circe prepared to be insulted even more or have the plate with salmon slammed down without care. Instead she was met with a pleasant demeanor that seemed genuine. Her gaze wandered to take in every new detail added to Regulus features. From the prolonged face which had reshaped nostrils and eye shapes to a pair of beautiful curved horns going backwards. Not to mention how more visible those ears became as her hair became shorter. 

“Thank you so much.” Circe inhaled the scent of cooked salmon and gingerly picked up a fork. After one bite she made a pleasing sigh before facing Regulus. “This is lovely, my dear. Give the chef my highest regard. Also, before you go.” She picked up two dollar bills from Eve’s wallet and gave it to her. “For your good service.” Not that it would be needed as Regulus was going to become the goat she wished to be. Even if her enemy didn’t want to be a physical goat it helped to use that word to fuel a spell. Believing to be something from the start or making wishes made spells work much easier on powerful beings such as Regulus as it became invitations for changes. This was her favorite method of casting spells. Using words people uttered about themself and turning them into reality. Shrink arms, shrink.Shrink legs shrink. No more feet to walk in, only hooves remain. 

No matter how charming Regulus was right now she would keep changing form.  

@fallesto

Did they care about their education, they could have went to the greatest schools across the land, it would not have changed anything within their minds of who they are and what they are, they knew it from the first glance they had made onto this one, that they did not belong here, that they were within the wrong place, at the wrong time, in the wrong city, this was an establishment for the finer things within life and they, did not fit the bill, not here, not now, not ever did they fit what was being created here.

So the words and little comments, of her education and where she worked all of that went up and over her head, she cared little for it, she cared so little for it right here and now, as she would move to the kitchen, the soup and bread was prepared along with other meals as well for the countless others within the place, partners who have been with one another for some time, of people who were starting to know one another.

Taking from them all.

Feasting upon their love and draining it all for themselves. Ensuring every single droplet of it was taken within and pinched, was what they were doing and no one was stopping them as they came back to the table, placed the tray down without a care within the world to watch them begin to eat, a meal they didn’t even deserve, upon a table they had no right to take, as she turned and walked to the front.

“You fool.” As she breathed out, starting to chew out the greeter at the door for all that they had done, that they had foolishly allowed for such a thing to happen, that they let someone like this within the place in the first place, as the small prodding pain would begin, upon the head, they would press out, breaking skin that burst into white fur and spread, the long silk white hair, growing shorter and shorter with each passing second, as the horns pressed out, growing and growing, curling backwards a little bit as well as they would settle, a new crown, for a queen, one that she had wanted, for so long and now.

Was permanently fixed upon them.

As she turned one more time and started to walk back to the kitchen, focused on the task at hand. The hollow horns jutted further out of her forehead, poking through pink flesh before the base of each darkened with fur. As they grew inch by painful inch they rescinded back towards her head in a crescent shape as her face pulled.

Reaching the kitchen as the main course was ready, offered to her and placed onto a tray as she would lift it and turn and leave the kitchen once more, walking back through the establishment, as her face would continue, covered in white soft fur, pulling further and further outwards to shift, turn and create a new muzzle for them, dusting upon the cheeks, light pink hue as they where, happy creatures, pleasant, never angry nor filled with hatred and around them, everyone was the same, shorter hair, horns as well, faces turning into muzzles, the heads of goats upon the patrons who continued to talk and eat, as if nothing had happened as she reached the table, placed clean plates down and gathered the old, her attitude, flipping all the way around, a sense of relaxation and gentleness as she felt, almost happy, oddly enough.

“I hope everything is too your liking, please enjoy the food, you have deserved it.”

[ddejavvu]

congratulations!!!!!!!

I would run to you - send me a trope and a character, and i’ll write about what it would be like! (ex. enemies to lovers with eddie munson)

love at first sight with sirius black? i’m thinking him immediately being infatuated with r, but whatever you write will be perfect <33 thank you and congratulations again!!! you deserve it!!!!

come celebrate 5.7k with me!

I would run to you - send me a trope and a character, and i’ll write about what it would be like! (ex. enemies to lovers with eddie munson)

thank you so much babycakes!! i loooved this one :') sirius loml <3

--

Sirius Black was not one to be distracted. He was laser focused on raising hell around Hogwarts, and he excelled at it too. Visiting Zonko's was a weekly occurrence for him, And visiting it right before winter break began was the highlight of his week.

He had taken his last exam only hours ago, probably bombed it, but it didn't matter. There was a new shipment of frog spawn soap in, and Sirius was going to give the Slytherin Prefects a sendoff they'd never forget when they showered before going home.

There was an unfamiliar person at the counter, turned away from them so he couldn't see their face. They looked somewhat young, though, and- were those hogwarts robes?

You turned before Sirius could get a better look at you from behind, the confused furrow in his brow lifting as his eyes widened.

"Hello," You greeted him cheerily, "Are you looking for anything behind the counter today?" You gestured to a glass case containing dungbombs and a few edible products, nothing exposed that people could set off in the store.

Suddenly, Sirius's voice had left him.

"No," He managed to stammer, "Just- just some frogspawn soap."

"Oh, the soap!" Your eyes lit up, and his heart did a strange cartwheel in his chest, "I've got some in the back."

You darted for the curtain behind you, and Sirius was left to catch his breath after the enchanting encounter. Since when did a student work at Zonko's? Since when did you attend Hogwarts? He was absolutely certain he'd have seen you before in the castle, you were hard to miss.

Before he could compose his thoughts, you came bursting out into the store again, "Here! Here," You set two bars of soap on the counter, "That's six galleons."

"For two?" He marveled at the low price.

"There's a special right now." You pointed to a display he hadn't seen, "Buy one get one!"

"Oh." He didn't know what else to say, his typical flirtatious eloquence having escaped him. He let his wallet speak for him, though, a fistful of galleons set on the counter with a clink.

You rang him up easily, and Sirius deduced that you had to have worked here for a while to be so proficient in the job.

"You.." He decides to voice his thoughts, "You're working here?"

"I am." You smiled kindly at him as you bagged up his soap, "My dad's the owner."

"Oh!" His eyebrows shot towards his hairline in surprise, his mouth slightly dry as he tried comprehending the wacky store owner's family life, "That's cool."

"Try waking up to dungbombs in your bed and then tell me it's cool." You quipped, a wry smile over your features.

"Well that.. doesn't sound as cool." He admitted, a sheepish laugh escaping him.

"You aren't planning to use this in the castle, are you?" You held his bag out of his reach, "Store policy states that the pranks must not be detrimental to the school's efficiency."

"Definitely not." Some of his wit seemed to have returned, a familiar cheeky smirk flitting over his lips, "The prefect's bathroom would be an awful place to put this."

"Oh," Your eyes flashed with delight, "Terrible. Simply rotten. What time would you say you're not unleashing a hoard of frogs on the higher-ups?"

"Not tomorrow morning at seven. Do not meet me in the dungeons."

"I won't." You promised, your teeth digging into your lip to bite back your growing grin as you hand over his bag, "Have a good day! I won't see you tomorrow."

"I won't see you tomorrow either," He called out over his shoulder, "Don't bring an extra bar!"

[im-a-literature-trash-baby]

Hello! Hope you are having a great day/night!

I was wondering if you could write about Childe with a harbinger reader who's pantalone's sister?

Just that the reader is never present, they are constantly traveling but one day Pantalone suggests to call her to solve [insert random bad problem]

Then she arrives during a reunion and since, childe just can't take his eyes of her, they talk, etc.

U could add some angsty little backstory for the reader if u want, but if its too long or specific, i don't mind only headcanons :)

Hi, sorry if I kept you waiting! Hope you'll enjoy it! I made the reader a little sassy hehe

Childe x f!Reader who's Pantalone's sister

Childe was in a gloomy mood despite how beautiful Liyue Harbour was when the early rays of sunshine touched the water, the ships, and the boats. The chilly morning breeze hit his face as he was walking from the harbor to Liuli Pavilion where he had a meeting scheduled with one of the other Harbingers, Pantalone. The man sent him a letter not so long ago where he stated that Childe's questionable expenses bothered him. He also mentioned how he will have to take care of some bandits as a form of punishment.

Childe let out a sight while he was thinking about the mentioned letter. 'There must be something else behind all of this, even if the Harbingers like to look down upon me, they wouldn't think that dealing with some bandits would be a fitting punishment for me.'

With hopes of getting news about some strong and powerful enemy that he'll have to defeat as his true punishment he opened the door of the restaurant and went inside.

To his surprise, he didn't find Pantalone alone. A girl was sitting next to him with similar features as the regrator who he’s never seen before.

'Oh, Childe. Just in time.'

The ginger nodded and sat in front of Pantalone and the mysterious guest.

'I came here as you told me in that letter of yours. But you did not say a thing about us having company.' He looked at you but your gaze was already on him, examining every move of his with a sly smile on your face. 'Who would she be?'

'Let's start from the beginning, shall we?' Pantalone said. 'I was told that your expenses were significantly enormous while being in Liyue. May I ask why?'

'I spent them on missions.'

'But such a big amount?'

'Liyue is an expensive city.'

'Liar.' You pointed out, still having the same smile on your face.

Childe didn't say a thing as an answer. He knew that his expenses were huge but also knew that explaining why they were like this would just put him in an embarrassing situation.

'No need to point out the obvious, (y/n). Childe, if you're not willing to tell us where the money goes, to some extent, that's fine by me. You would need to spend way more money than this for my wallet to feel it, but!' He lifted his index finger and continued in a child scolding manner. 'You still caused an inconvenience so it only comes natural that there will be consequences...And that's where my dear sister comes in the picture as well.'

'Your sister?' Childe looked at you again but quickly got his gaze back to Pantalone because he met your intense stare once again.

'Yes.' The black-haired man nodded and put a hand on your shoulder. '(y/n) is my sister and the one who will keep an eye on you during your duties as well. You see, an informant told us back in Sheznaya that a few members from the lower ranks of the Fatui have been doing some suspicious business with the bandits in Liyue. We assume that they might be planning to leak information out if they are not doing so already. Your duty is to get to the bottom of this matter.'

'But since it's your punishment as well, me and my brother decided to make it a little harder for you. You are not allowed to kill any of the people involved in the matter nor to give them any fatal wounds. Your only job is to get information about their little alliance and to prove that we have traitors in the Fatui.'

'Sounds great, I'll accept it!'

'Splendid! Then I shall take my leave then. (y/n), I'll leave him to you.'

As Pantalone went out of the restaurant, and you two escorted him out, Childe could feel the excitement flow through his body. It's certainly a new field where he can try out his capabilities and who knows, maybe if he excells in this he might get new opportunities within the Fatui as well.

'You seem to be excited.' He jumped away in his surprise when he realized how close you were standing to him. 'Did I scare you?' You asked playfully.

'How-how come that Pantalone never told us about you?'

'Probably because it wasn't needed. I like to travel around Teyvat, getting to know people and seeing things that I'd never see in the cold land of Shezhnaya. I'm only here now because brother needed someone who he deeply trusts in.’

‘I see...’

He examined your figure, your clothes, and most importantly your weapon. From the way you looked as a whole, he could tell that you were strong, just like your bother...But beautiful as well.

‘Let’s fight!’

‘I’ve already been told about your way of treating people who might be even slighter stronger than you. Sorry, but I have to decline.’

He didn’t listen to you. He pulled out his sword with his elemental power only for it to be stopped midway from attacking you by holding your weapon to his throat. He couldn’t believe his eyes. He only blinked once and there you were, already holding the upper hand.

‘You are pretty good.’ He said with a grin on his face.

‘I am. Now, put down your weapon. I’m sure that your friend won’t be happy if you cause trouble in Liyue City.’ He obeyed your words but kept his eye contact with you. ‘I’m surprised that you’re able to look me in the eye, I mean while we were in the restaurant you couldn’t even look at me more than a second.’ These words were enough to make him look away from you immediately.

He couldn’t deny it. The moment he laid eyes upon you he noticed your unmatching beauty and he couldn’t deny the fact that your silky voice and combat knowledge only added to your attractiveness either.

He gulped and shook his head. The only thing on his mind should be his mission, nothing else.

You decided to break the silence between you.

‘Let’s get going. I’ll show you the way.’

‘Okay’

You were walking around in the Huaguang Stone Forest, looking for clues. This place has a beautiful scenery and yet Childe couldn’t take his eyes off of you even for a moment. You were going in front of him, showing the way as you promised. Childe burned every little movement of yours into his brain. The way your hips swung while you were taking your steps elegantly, the way the breeze got into your hair, everything. The things that you could be doing instead of being here...

‘I think your job isn’t undressing me with your eyes. Please remember, you can fail your task by not getting information as well.’

‘And what would my punishment be then, comrade? I assume something harsher than this one, but what?’

‘That’s my brother's job to figure out.’

‘Ah yes, your brother... You know it’s kind of ironic. The regrator rarely leaves his home and yet there you are, his sister, an adventurer of some sort.’

‘Just because we are siblings doesn’t mean that we have to be the same. You and Teucer seem to be different as well.’

‘You know him?’

‘Yes. One time I was visiting my brother and there he was, running around, looking for you.’ You could see in his eyes that he began to worry. ‘But don’t worry. Pulcinella got him home safely.’

‘Thank Archons...’

‘You seem to become way more humane when it comes to your brother. You must love him very much.’

‘Isn’t it the job of an older brother to love and protect his sibling unconditionally?’

‘I wish.’

Childe opened his mouth to speak but eventually decided to stay silent. What was he excepting anyways? Pantalone never seemed to be a kindhearted person, why would he be the way he’s with Tuecer?

‘I’m sorry if I touched a sensitive topic.’ 

‘You don’t need to worry. My brother’s heart is indeed made out of stone and money but I know that he does care about me in his own ways. The only thing there’s for me is to protect myself when he’s not with me which is basically all the time.’ You try to laugh it of.

‘I’ll be there to protect you.’ He said without hesitation. ‘Growing up without anyone to lean on or to protect you can be troublesome and hard but...I think at least as an adult we should be able to experience the feeling of love and secureness.’

‘Thank you for your kind words, Childe.’ You hugged him and placed a kiss on his left cheek. ‘After we are over with this stupid thing let’s get to know each other more, shall we?’

He nodded while he did everything to hide his blushing face from you.

Bonus because I just love the concept of overprotecting big brother Pantalone:

‘So you are dating my sister?’

‘Yes.’ Childe tried his very best to stop his legs from shaking.

‘We love eachother so much~!’

‘I’m glad (y/n).’ 

Childe felt how different Pantalone’s aura was when he was talking to the two of you. Once it said “I’m so glad that you found yourself a special someone” and the other times said, “Break her heart, I’ll break your bones.”

[ggukkiereads]

Hi! I was looking through your pinned recs and the one you have already and I didn’t see any Mechanic au (like they work in a mechanic shop) so I was wondering if you read those? And if you do, do you have any recommendations?

🌷 Hi there! 👋 I got excited over this ask but couldn’t answer it right away. Please enjoy these fics as much as I did. =) 

💌 Big thanks to these authors for fulfilling our mechanic!bangtan imagines  =)

Please note that most of the fics are mature. Minors please DNI. Check the tags/warnings per fic too.

S - smut | F - fluff | A - angst

Note: if link to fic doesn’t work, click on author and go to their masterlist.

Namjoon

Give and Take @ddaenggtan - one shot | 10.5k | mechanic!namjoon, strangers to lovers | s, f

🛠 When your beloved jeep breaks down, you have no choice but to take it to a mechanic for once instead of trying to fix it yourself. you fully expected to empty your wallet or get told to just buy a new car. you don’t expect to meet kim namjoon, nor do you expect him to be hot like burning, sweet as honey, and interested in you.

🌷 this fic will make you want to wish all car breakdowns lead you to one sweet (and hot) kim namjoon 🔥

Clumsy in Love @jiminables - drabble | 1.5k | smitten namjoon, clumsy encounters (because he is smitten and didn’t pay attention to his surroundings) | f

🌷 this is really cute and it feels longer than a drabble (because of the different timelines)

Seokjin

🛠 no available mechanic at the moment 😕

Yoongi

Baby, You Can Drive My Car + Maybe, She Can Drive His Car @jungshookz - bulleted | 36.2k | romcom, humor, strangers to lovers, rich girl!oc, spoiltbrat!oc, auto repair shop owner yoongi, featuring mechanic!bangtan (namjoon, hoseok, jimin, taehyung, and jungkook), rich!seokjin | f, a, slight s

🛠  welcome to min mechanics - what can i do for you today, doll?

🌷 I just did a reaction/reblog of this fic and this made me laugh out loud so please read when you need a good romcom on a really bad day.

Sinners and Saints @suhdays - two shot | 40k | Streetracer!Yoongi, Mechanic!OC, action, drama | a, f

🛠  subject to catering to jaehyeong’s every need involving car repair, you were convinced that such behavior belonged to each racer…at least not until you made an unlikely friendship with his own right hand man, min yoongi.

🌷 so technically the mechanic here is OC and not the member but it’s good to have the roles switched too =)

Hoseok

A Constellation of Fires @readyplayerhobi - two shot | 41.2k | greek god au, Hephaestus!Hoseok, part of the Greek Gods series | f, a, s

🛠 Vulcan Industries, a titan in the world of technological inventions that have helped humanity progress. Despite its influence though, their CEO remains a mystery to the world, content to simply invent in the shadows. That is, until a journalist uncovers the mystery that connects a simple car mechanic to the technology giant.

🌷 This is just different from the other fics because it is more of a god au but I remember feeling like my heart was going to burst reading this. One has to read Jimin’s story to fully appreciate the god universe

In The Car @floralseokjin - one shot | 14.7k | Mechanic!Hoseok, Street Racer!Hoseok | s, f, slight a

🛠 All you had was a dead car battery, you weren’t looking for romance, regardless if the charming mechanic had other ideas. You’ve heard stories that could put you off… Can he change your misconceptions, or will they prove correct after all…?

🌷 I associate this with Airplane j-hope for some reason (I think it was around that time when this came out). We love a good mechanic hoseok concept. It’s a bit angsty due to his “image” with his ex - anyway, read to see if they get past these “stories”

Jimin

Exhaust @jungk0oksthighs - one shot | 9k | book editor!oc x mechanic!jimin who went on a bad blind date, enemies to lovers, rebound au | s

🛠 He was a mechanic, and you needed help. 

Stuck in the middle of nowhere with a dead cell, you were overjoyed to see another car pull up to the rescue. However when the owner of that car knocked on your window, you were faced with the one person you once vowed you never wanted to see ever again. Park Jimin. 

🌷 I love a good e2l scenario and these two are just exciting to me that I wish there’s more to them than their spontaneous-sex moment 😉 

Car Trouble @writingseoul - one shot | 4.3k | strangers to lovers, OC’s car broke down, mechanic!jimin with bad boy vibes, OC just passing through the town (road trip) | s, slightly a

🛠  My specialty is handling trouble.

🌷 I realize the concept is kind of sad since OC’s presence is that of a passerby so she can’t get too attached =(

Believe It @writtenwhalien - one shot | 28.7k | enemies to lovers, mechanic!jimin | a, f, s

🛠  When your car breaks down late at night in your hometown and the door you knock on just happens to belong to the man that was almost yours, it opens the floodgates to memories you had hoped to keep suppressed and those you’ve never forgotten about.

Jimin remembers it all too — the many words that were left unsaid between you, and the many feelings left unresolved. And now he wants to make it right.

🌷 this is new and I just love how it is so timely with the Butter concept photos because that Jimin just blew my mind. 

Taehyung

All at Once @sublimebangtan - [1/?]*| 4.6k | mechanic!taehyung, strangers to lovers, started dating but seems...different lives (? so a bit angsty) | a, s

🛠  you’ve never been one to judge a book by its cover, so when you found yourself falling for the local mechanic, his job had never made you think less of him. But maybe he didn’t feel the same.

🌷 I just assumed there’s part two 😁👉👈; it is surprisingly angsty T_T

Jungkook

Car Mechanic!JK drabble @rmverse - drabble | 1.5k | mechanic!jungkook, a one night stand scenario from the past, OC x JJK meets again, feat. Taehyung | s 

🛠 you didn’t have to do anything, you just had to drive your car to jungkook’s shop. but it was jeon jungkook. sex-on-legs jeon jungkook. tattooed and recently pierced jeon jungkook.

(🔥, I need water this is so hot)

Nowhere with You @gamerguk​ - drabble | 2.6k | mechanic!jungkook, secret relationship au, kind of forbidden (jungkook is the her Dad’s employee), fwb au (undefined relationship), longing lots of longing | slight s, a, f

🛠  in which your father owns an auto repair shop and hires jungkook as his newest employee, who’s willing to assist you in more ways than one.

🌷 this is cute but angsty too; the ending has a little twist to it which resolves all the worries one will have while reading their exchange in the beginning

I Missed You @tvehyungs-gf - drabble | 419 words | established relationship, OC thought he’s a burglar,  bad boy!jungkook? | f

🛠 It’s three in the morning.✧ I missed you.

🌷 this will remind you of that Jungkook in leather jacket VLive (the time they were in Europe for LY tour)

Some Way, Some How @1kook - one shot + drabbles | 28.4k+ | auto shop owner!jungkook, businesswoman!oc, best friends to lovers, childhood friends, slice of life  | f, a, s

🛠 Maybe you don’t know Jungkook as well as you thought you did. Maybe he doesn’t know you.

Drabbles:   right place, wrong time | paint job, hand job | this unnamed drabble | one man, no hands | wrong place, right time

💜💜💜 please I love this jungkook

Fact Over Fancy @dovechim - one shot | 9.9k | dystopian au, psychiatrist!oc, arranged marriages in dystopian society, defective!jungkook (he’s got emotions in a society where it’s being repressed), he works at the auto shop | a, s, f

🛠  In this world, there are two types of people: those born with emotions, and those born without. Society is thriving in its emotionless state, productivity levels are at an all time high. Marriage serves only one function: to father the next generation. Those with emotions are considered to be defective, aberrations who can never be matched. What happens when there’s a glitch in the so-called perfect system and a defective and a “normal” person are matched?

🌷 I almost forgot including this! It’s not exactly focused on his being a mechanic or auto shop staff so it slipped my mind. But, I keep remembering a scene at the shop where OC would visit him and they messed around with the water hose. I just had to put this fic in the list because the auto shop scene stood out to me =) 

Fic Recs | BTS Mechanic AUs

🌷 Feel free to chat about fics =) 🌷 posted: 2021 Sep 04 | updated: 2021 Oct 30 🌷 other fic recs lists

[kunikinnie]

playing jenga for couples

featuring: Dazai

a/n: requested by no one but I just- can't-! I blame Youtube recommendations. only warning is that this was written very quickly lol I'm sorry if it's bad

"Why are we doing this?"

"Loser buys lunch for the entire week."

"Deal."

You successfully removed a block from the tower. It was still pretty stable since only a few blocks were removed. Strangely enough, none of you had pulled out any challenge blocks.

"Are you sure you didn't stack these in a certain order?"

"Of course not. That would ruin the fun, no?" His smile was all but suspicious. Knowing your boyfriend, he always had some scheme in the works, but at this point you knew better than to think about it.

Once you safely placed your block at the top, Dazai began to pull out another one. He swiftly removed it and glanced at its back.

Hold your partner's hand for 10 seconds.

"That's easy," he said as he intertwined his fingers with yours. You blushed at the speed and ease of his actions, but it felt quite nice. The warmth of his hand on yours is a feeling you'd never get tired of.

"Okay! Your turn~"

And immediately, your competitiveness came back. Not only did you want to win the game and save a portion of your wallet, but you also wanted to fluster him for once - an unimaginable feat, yet you dared to try.

"Aha!" Quickly you turned over the block to reveal no writing whatsoever. Somewhat disappointed, you gently placed the block on the top layer.

He snickered at your reaction. "Aww, don't worry. You'll get 'em next time." His turn took a bit longer than the previous, but again he had no problems removing a block. He stared at the writing and his right eyebrow raised slightly.

"No backing out, remember?" You teased. Was this the moment you were waiting for?

Slowly, he read out what was written on the block.

What are my three charming points?

"Hmm, everything about you is charming," you mumbled as you tried to think of genuine answers.

"Well, your smile for one... then I suppose your voice is nice too. But my favorite would be your kindness, I guess."

You were staring off into space that you didn't notice him lean dangerously close to you, his head rested on his hand and a smirk on his face. "Really...? Hmm. Interesting answers."

"D-don't get too close! The tower might fall." You desperately tried to wave off your embarrassment. He caught you off guard again, dammit.

"Anyway, Y/N. It's your turn again."

You regained focus on the current enemy before you - no, not him but the now unstable tower. Why did Dazai have to get from the weirdest spots?

With the greatest effort you carefully removed a block on the same layer as he previously took from. The room was deadly silent while you concentrated, until finally you sighed from relief.

"Got one! Oh, there's something here-" The moment your eyes laid on the writing, your cheeks slowly turned red.

"What did you get?"

He hovered over to your side to read the challenge in your frozen hands.

Sit on your partner's lap and stare at them for 30 seconds.

"W-w-wait," you protested. "Isn't 30 seconds a bit too long?"

"Oh, are you chickening out, Y/N?" He was behind you yet you could tell his smirk was only getting wider. This was so not going according to plan.

You huffed and told him to sit down back on his own chair as you slowly prepared to sit on his lap. Suddenly, a hand pulled you down and you yelped in surprise.

"You were taking so long," he whined.

"O-Only for 30 seconds. No more, no less."

You gazed into his eyes, doing your best not to break contact. They were beautiful, you thought, his soft brown eyes. You've seen them darken once or twice - instances which you wished deep in your heart never happen again. You wanted Dazai to be happy, and you were more than grateful to be at least one of the people to make him feel more human.

"Getting too lost, are we?"

He was right. You were so lost in his gaze that you lost count of how much longer you had to stay like this. Honestly, you didn't feel like leaving at all.

How lucky you were to be this close to him - to admire him, to cherish him, to love him. Heaven knows how much you want to make that clear to him, and you only wished that he felt the same way about you.

Your thoughts had consumed you so much that even as your heart beat faster and your faces came closer, you couldn't help but stay still.

His hand pulled your head toward his and your lips met. Your eyes fluttered shut at the sensation, reveling in its tenderness. You parted for a moment but you quickly returned a chaste kiss. His left arm dropped down to your waist and gripped it tightly as he passionately kissed you back. Slowly his kisses became more aggressive, almost desperate even.

Each time you parted and he came back with such force you were always left breathless, especially when your tongues would glide and collide. Your hands were clinging on to the back of his shirt so tightly in order to keep up with the intensity.

Every kiss became sloppier and sloppier but the rush of emotions didn't let either of you pull away completely. That was until you rested your pointer finger on his lips.

"What about," you panted. "W-what about the game?"

He only smirked as he kissed you once more. His eyes were filled with a mischievous glint that made you fall for him even more. This wasn't what you were hoping to gain from playing, but you were more than glad to have this instead.

"I think that can wait."

[inkykeiji]

bright light city gonna set my soul on fire

ace anon said: wanna suggest dabi taking you to a poker game as a good luck charm then betting you on a game and losing...or winning and bragging about it by fucking you on the table

genre: smut + implied crooked secret agent/spy AU set in the late 1950s???

notes: AH ace i loved this idea SO MUCH it ended up sparking an entire fic!! heavily inspired by ian fleming’s 1953 novel casino royale + martin campbell’s 2006 film casino royale. it is set in clari’s version of the 1950s and in no way historically accurate!! think of it as an AU of the 1950s, if that makes sense ehehe | title credit: viva las vegas by elvis | songs mentioned in the fic itself: don’t and i beg of you by elvis, rockin’ robin by bobby day

warnings: 18+, period typical use of the word Daddy (not with dabi), inappropriate use of the word Mister, slight degradation, mentioned somnophilia, slight dacryphilia, minimal prep, night terrors, blood, murder, generally toxic codependant relationship, one implied mention of drug use (morphine), mentions of tense family dynamics

words: 8.5k

synopsis:

Yes, as much as he’d like to deny it, it’s true; Dabi fell in love with you the moment he laid eyes on you.

Because Dabi saw more than just a pretty little thing when your gazes first met.

He saw the perfect weapon, a diamond in the rough just waiting—begging—to be cleaned and cut and formed into the most brilliant gem, into the most ideal accomplice for him—because, really, what’s more dangerous than a beautiful woman? Especially when she looks like innocence personified?

Sticky pink candy, translucent and gleaming with saliva, clacks against teeth as you roll the heart-shaped lollipop around in your mouth, twirling the stick between your index finger and your thumb.

Legs kick idly as you lean back on your other hand, seated on the edge of Tomura’s massive, pristine mahogany desk, watching as his personal tailor helps Dabi shrug on a navy tuxedo jacket, stitched and sown perfectly to his measurements.

“I dunno,” he’s saying as he pivots his body a little, making a face at himself in the mirror. “I still think the black looks better,”

Ruby eyes roll up towards the ceiling, a frustrated groan spilling from between Tomura’s lips.

“You always think the black looks better. We’re going with the navy, it brings out your eyes,” he gives the back of Dabi’s head a sharp look before strolling towards you, features softening as he observes—the perfect picture of innocence, legs swinging slowly in cute little motions, strawberry lollipop sucked against the roof of your mouth, sparkling eyes floating from your boyfriend’s broad shoulders to his—your—boss’s face as he advances.

“Gimme some,” he demands, large hands finding your knees and halting your movement, using his hipbones to push them wider, making a space for himself between them and sticking his tongue out. With a giggle, you place the now misshapen candy on his tongue, gasping loudly as he snatches the candy from you, movements too quick for you to catch, and jumps away with the grace of a cat.

“Daddy!”

Tomura snickers around the lollipop in his mouth, sucking it into his cheek as he speaks around it. “Aw, come now, don’t pout,” his bottom lip pushes out to mimic your expression, tilting his head in false sympathy. “I’m sure your Mister will buy you another,”

“He better,” you mumble through your pout, eyebrows knitting together as arms cross tightly over your chest, eyes flitting to Dabi.

“I will, dollface, I will,” he vows distractedly, gaze not straying from his fingers reflected in the mirror as they fiddle with his bowtie.

“Promise, Mister?”

“Promise, baby, promise,”

Dabi’s already been briefed on the specifics of this mission—something to do with playing a poker game with a bunch of other crooked hotshots at the Sahara hotel in Las Vegas, but that’s all you know. That’s all you’re authorized to know.

Despite being Dabi’s accomplice and working for Tomura’s underground organization, you’re rarely allowed to be in Tomura’s office while the briefing happens. It’s sensitive information, dollface, and the less you know the better, and don’t misbehave now, sit pretty and quiet like a good little girl until the big boys are finished, and then Daddy and Mister will give you a pretty reward.

But! you had protested with a bottom lip involuntarily jutted out. But maybe, if I know more, I can be of better help—

But Tomura had shut that idea down before it had even finished leaving your lips.

No. Absolutely not. It’s for your own good—your own safety, you little brat—why can’t you understand that? 

You do understand that, you’ve been told a thousand times—your specialty is distractions, used to keep enemies occupied before Dabi splatters their brains on marble floors, or to pry information out of men weak to the smile of a pretty girl.

And, to be fair, Tomura does reward you pretty generously, with glittering evening gowns and designer pumps and all the handbags a gal could ever want.

You turn back to face him, red lips spread into a cunning, mischievous smile, a smile he knows all too well, a smile Dabi loves—because he taught it to you—and Tomura hates—because it means you’re about to get what you want. “So. How much money are you giving me to play with this time, Daddy?”

Tomura’s face screws up, nose scrunching. “None,” he spits, removing the lollipop from his mouth. Tiny hands grab at the air, reaching for it like a child, Tomura swiping it just out of grasp as he continues his scolding. “Last time, you nearly bought the entire shopping complex,”

“Ah, c’mon, boss,” Dabi says around a cigar, still standing in front of the full-length mirror and smoothing down his clothing. “Give the lil lady a lil somethin’, will ya?”

“Yeah, boss, c’mon,” you plead, mimicking your boyfriend, adorning your face with your signature pout and award-winning puppy-dog eyes.

“Absolutely not.” His voice is stern as he speaks, facial features hard in finality and resolution, but his eyes—irises a crimson so brilliant, so beautiful it’s terrifying, almost looks as if it’s glowing—are beginning to waver.

“You know, if you don’t, then I’m sure I’ll get bored in that big city all by myself while Dabi’s working,” you begin in a singsong voice, eyebrows raising. “And you know what happens when I get bored, Daddy,”

“She gets int’a trouble,” Dabi grumbles, eyes catching yours through the mirror, though there’s a smirk forming around the cigar, held between sharp gleaming ivory teeth.

“S’true,” you nod simply, eyelashes fluttering as you gaze at Tomura. “Please, Daddy? Pretty please? I swear I won’t spend too much this time,”

“Jus’ give ‘er your credit card r’somethin’,” Dabi waves a hand in nonchalance before patting down his pockets. “I’ll keep a’eye on ‘er, promise,”

“Take that damn cigar out of your mouth and speak properly,” Tomura spits, and you and Dabi share another look, another smirk, through the mirror. “Fine, alright? Fine,” nimble fingers pull out a sleek leather wallet, flipping it open and searching through the card slots, grumbling to himself. “Christ, the two of you are insufferable, I swear to God,”

“Thank you, Daddy,” you giggle, soft and gentle and innocent, all of the things you weren’t mere moments ago. Platinum plastic gleams in your fingers as you tilt the card in the light, gaze captivated by the way it sparkles and glitters as you speak again. “Promise I’ll bring you back something neat,”

     ✰          ✰          ✰

It’s been a few years now since the two of you met, since the two of you became partners, and Dabi swears to high heaven and back that he had tried his hardest not to fall in love with you, cross his heart, hope to die.

At least, that’s what he likes to tell himself. In actuality, he fell for you the moment he laid eyes on you—it’s as cliché and cheesy as one of those Jimmy Dean flicks, but goddamn it, it’s true all the same.

Doesn’t help that that’s one of the first things you said to him, though.

You look like Jimmy Dean, Mister, you had giggled dainty behind your hand, batting those long, thick eyelashes as you gazed up at him, gracious and polite and all the things a good little girl like you should be. Is supposed to be.

It made him want to fucking ruin you. It sparked a white-hot fire deep in the pit of his stomach, a blaze that grew, and grew, and grew with each of your cute mannerisms. It procured an inferno full of pure desire, heady and intoxicating, that nearly engulfed him in an instant.

“Oh, yeah?” he had asked with a smirk, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest, tongue running along his front teeth as he steadily held your eyes. “‘N why’s that, little miss?”

Those eyes, the sparkling ones that had been so bold only a moment ago, bashfully flitted down to the teal typewriter sitting in front of you on a large oak desk, fiddling a little with your nails against the worn keys.

Baby pink. Cute.

“Oh I—I—” your gaze flashed up to his for a moment, intense cobalt burning into your very skull, before you averted your stare again. “Well, I-I don’t mean to be rude, Mister, it’s just that—your hair,”

Sapphire eyes flicked up, as if to gaze at his forehead, as if he were able to see his own hair from just that motion, eyebrows raising with the action.

“S’all messy like the way he wears his. You know, when he’s not doing a picture and all that,”

And you noticed your mistake immediately, eyes widening, tongue tripping over your words in your haste to correct yourself, to speak properly, like a lady. “I-It’s all messy, s-sorry, excuse me, it’s all messy like the way he wears his,”

A smirk, slow and dangerous, spread across his face as he observed you, tilting his head a little as his eyes travelled down your neck, to your shoulders and the sweetheart neckline of that pretty, pretty dress, and then back up again, narrowing slightly as they did so. It’s in that moment that Dabi first wondered what you’d sound like underneath him while sharp hipbones bruise his name into the tender flesh of your inner thighs, how you’d slur your words together then.

His voice was a touch huskier when he spoke again. “You like Jimmy, miss?”

“I sure do,” you nodded, painted lips morphing into a little melancholic smile as you looked down at the typewriter again. “It’s a real shame he passed,”

“Sure is,” Dabi mimicked your movement, giving a simple nod in agreement. “But thank you for the compliment, doll, I’ll take it,”

Your head snapped back up. “Oh, c’mon, m’not stupid y’know,” you huffed with a roll of your eyes and a light laugh.

“No?”

The traces of amusement that played in his azure eyes had your own narrowing a little in response, sitting up straighter as you rolled your shoulders back.

“No,” you shook your head. “I know who you are,”

“Yeah? And who’s that?”

“Touya.”

And it’s the way you said his birthname, the way your lips curled into a devious little smile around the word, the way one of your perfectly arched eyebrows raised in question, in challenge, that had confirmed it for him, right then and there, in that stupidly luxurious office.  

“Touya Todoroki.”

He was sure he had to have you. He was positive he had to make you his—forever.

“You’ve been compared to Jimmy since he debuted—”

“And you know this because—”

“—because I read Time and Vogue and all those other stupid magazines, just like all the other women in this country. And I’ve seen you,” you paused to point a manicured nail at him. “On or in every single one,”

Oh, and he was sure you had, sure you knew that he was notorious for stealing several of his father’s girlfriends when he was in his early twenties, infamous for fucking them and then selling the Polaroid’s and information to vying tabloids and the like. He always did like to spice up those stories a little, to fluff them and make them a hint more scandalous, glamorous—those ones always sold for more.

Not that he needed the money.

“It’s rude to point, baby,” he winked before he straightened up, pushed himself off the wall and stalked towards your desk, stopping in front of it as large hands splayed out on the wood, and leaned close to your face.

“And I don’t go by that name anymore, sweetheart,” he had told you, voice smooth as scotch over ice, though something dangerous glinted in his eyes as they carefully searched your face, something omnious etched into the sharp smile on his face

A shiver crawled up your spine, frosty and slow, fingers tiptoeing up each vertebra as you nodded your understanding. “Y-Yes, sir,”

The door to your boss’s office had swung open then, Dabi straightening up and spreading his arms out in a grand sweeping movement.

“David!” he greeted as if the two were old friends, large smile stretched too tight across his face as he walked forward and clapped a large hand on the smaller man’s shoulder. “How are you doing?”

He murdered your boss that day. You didn’t know, of course, didn’t have a goddamn clue until over a month later, Dabi had made sure of that. But by the time you found out, you were already in too deep; too enamoured by him, wholly captivated by him in every sense of the word, too dependant on him, to care at all.

He had made it quick—quiet and painless and looking as if it was an accident, strolling out of the office only a few moments later and asking you out on a date like nothing had happened, words flowing smoothly from his lips in that drawl that is so distinctly him, almost lazy in a way, glittering lidded sapphire scalding your skin with its intensity.

Yes, as much as he’d like to deny it, it’s true; Dabi fell in love with you the moment he laid eyes on you.

Because Dabi saw more than just a pretty little thing when your gazes first met.

He saw the perfect weapon, a diamond in the rough just waiting—begging—to be cleaned and cut and formed into the most brilliant gem, into the most ideal accomplice for him—because, really, what’s more dangerous than a beautiful woman? Especially when she looks like innocence personified?

Nothing, that’s what.

Honestly, he did you a favour—he swears he could see it in your eyes, sparkling as they gazed at him like he sculpted the moon himself, pleading for someone—for him—to come along and take care of you, to put you in your place, to keep you in line, absolutely desperate for someone to mold you, shape you, construct and arrange you into his most perfect creation.

Perfect, perfect, perfect, that’s what you are; so good for him, so obedient and compliant, always hanging on his every word and eagerly awaiting his next command, enthusiastic to submit to him, to please him, to receive the praise you crave so badly.

And Tomura had agreed, too, after only fifteen minutes of meeting you, of observing you, of assessing you, that you’d be a flawless addition to their operation.

So Dabi did what he does best.

He started slow, of course, enchanted you with strings of pearls and gorgeous dresses and expensive dinners, fed you tidbits about his mysterious lifestyle, about his family and his job and his past, just enough to keep you coming back for more, until you were practically begging him to let you in, to permit you to join his vocation, to accompany him on the wild ride that is his life.

And that was the best part of all—you didn’t care, you wanted it just as badly as he did; wanted to help him, to serve him, to be his, without ever requiring the full story. You readily gave everything up for him, accepted his orders, his wants and his needs without as much as a single question, never faltering in your honesty, in your pure devotion to your creator.

It’s love in its truest form, you’re both sure of it—possessed by one another, infatuated with one another, dedicated to one another—both consumed by the most potent drug, this love, a force to be reckoned with, the strongest pull either of you have ever felt before.

And, really, what more could you ask for?

     ✰          ✰          ✰

He took you under his wing, crafted you into a master of manipulation, pairing it perfectly with that innocent kitten demeanour you wear so well, and taught you everything he knew: all of the infiltration techniques and self-defence he had learned before he was ostracized from his father’s company—a privatized intelligence agency that works closely with the federal government—the very organization he’s been working so tirelessly to burn to the ground.

You still don’t exactly know what happened. He doesn’t like to talk about it, about where those scars decorating his body came from, about why he’s thrown away his old identity and constructed a new one, trading ivory hair and a high-fashion wardrobe for inky black and weathered Levi jeans with big black motorcycle boots.

But you do know a little.

He had been the favourite son, the chosen son, the one set to inherit the empire his father had built. That was, until he got himself into an accident—one that he still isn’t ready to disclose the full details of, and you never push. But you know it had involved a twelve year old Touya—always devious, crafty, and ever-so intelligent, even as a child—sneaking along on a mission he absolutely shouldn’t have. The silvery burns that adorn his skin, puckered and soft and shimmering like moonlight when they catch in the sun, scars tinged with the slightest hint of baby pink, are from this incident. Whatever had happened after had scarred his soul forever.

Because you’ve never encountered such intense hatred, burning bright blue flames that rage and roar inside of him, the words that are spit from between clenched teeth when he talks about his father, about his baby brother, positively scalding.

But it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter that you don’t know the full story, that you aren’t entirely aware of why this vendetta against his family exists. It doesn’t matter that his one goal in life, his only true desire aside from you, is to take down his father. It doesn’t matter that he’s willing to do anything and use everyone to achieve his objective.

Because he is letting you in; slowly, bit by bit and piece by piece, the most fascinating and tragically beautiful jigsaw you’ve ever put together. He may never be ready to tell the full story, and that’s alright with you, because as you’ve reassured him countless times in the dead of night, you’ll always love him anyway—you’ll always be by his side.

That’s when he’s most vulnerable, it seems—in the middle of the night, at two and three and four in the morning, when he wakes trembling and whimpering and soaked with his own sweat.

He never tells you what they’re about, the nightmares. Sometimes, they’re so violent that they wake you first. He doesn’t fuck you immediately on those days, doesn’t say a word as he finds solace in your warm bosom, little fingers pushing back sweaty strands of inky hair from his temples as your other arm wraps around him, holding him close to you as his shaky breathing calms, as his muscles stop quivering. On those nights, he says nothing as he spreads your legs and climbs on top of you, railing you into the mattress like it’s his last day on this earth.

That’s how he likes to be comforted; that’s what calms him down best. It’s standard procedure at this point—not that you mind waking up to his soft sniffles and him shoving himself into your barely prepped cunt, or rousing to feel the tip of his naked cock rubbing against your clit through thin cotton undies as he tells you in that wavering voice to stay sleeping and let your Mister take what he needs. You’re there to serve him—and you do, so perfectly. You just want to help, after all. You’ve always ever just wanted to help. You never know which nights he’ll gift you another little piece of himself, of his soul, for you to try and fit in somewhere in the puzzle that is DABI. You don’t know the triggers—as far as you’re concerned, they don’t seem to exist anywhere outside of the padlocked barricade of his own head, no rhyme or reason to them, more random than anything else. But you’ll readily accept anything and everything he’s willing to give, the very instant he’s willing to give it.

     ✰          ✰          ✰

Sprawled out on the hotel bed with his white t-shirt riding up and exposing your lacy panties, you watch, in an almost trancelike state, as Dabi does his hair in preparation for the game set to begin in an hour or so. He leaves it messy and ungreased when he isn’t working, all tousled and fluffy, a sea of half formed curls that flow into each other, akin to tremulous waves hours before a storm like an inky ocean atop his head. But he cleans up well, when it comes time to get down to business.

“Every little swallow, every chickadee, every little bird in the tall oak tree,”

Standing in front of the mirror clad in a white undershirt and his suit pants, he sings along to Bobby Day’s staticky voice as it flows through the small radio set on the bathroom counter, nimble fingers dipping into a tin of greasy pomade and gathering a generous glob, a responding giggle bubbling up in your chest.

“The wise old owl, the big black crow,” he catches your eye through the mirror, a devilish smile materializing on his face as he continues, lathering his hands together. “Flap-a their wings singin’ ‘go bird go’,”

“Should’a been a singer, I’m telling ya,” you say as you roll onto your stomach, chin resting in your palms and head propped up, eyes glittering. “Could’a rivalled Elvis,”

Huffing out a laugh accompanied by a roll of his eyes, his hands begin to rake through his hair, slathering it with the substance and slicking most of it back from his face, sure to leave a few curls at the start of his hairline untouched. “So sweet you’re gonna rot my teeth, baby,”

“M’serious!” you insist, blinking at him as your eyebrows raise, watching the teeth of the black comb run through the slicked-up strands, his palm following close behind as he smooths it over; crisscross, crisscross, crisscross, fluff, pat, crisscross.

 “Uh-huh, uh-huh,” he shakes his head in disbelief, though there’s the faintest pink tinting his stubbled cheeks. “I think I’m better at this job,”

What? Playing poker with a bunch of criminals and making deals with mafiosos and murdering those who wrong you? you swallow the words, letters stinging and scraping your throat as you force them back down, schooling your face into a neutral expression. “I respectfully disagree,”

“‘Course you do,” he mumbles to himself distractedly, leaning closer to the mirror to complete the look. “Elvis, you say?”

He begins belting out lyrics in an exaggerated deep voice as he adds the finishing touch—your favourite part—slender fingers shining with residual pomade as they twirl and coat the few stray curls left neglected, allowing them to hang artfully in the middle of his forehead. 

“When I feel like this and I want to kiss youuu,” pivoting on his heel, he gazes at you with that shit-eating grin and continues. “Baby, don’t say doooon’t,”

“Oh, God, no, not Don’t!” you groan, flopping onto your back dramatically, face screwed up as if you had just tasted something sour.

“Alright, alright, alright,” he’s chuckling as he advances towards you, a small towel in his hands as he cleans them. “How ‘bout…” trailing off, he hums a little as he thinks.

“Hold my hand and promise,” he begins in a low voice, smooth and sweet like the finest melted chocolate, depositing of the towel and crawling onto the bed.

“That you’ll always love me too,”

Large hands gently pry your legs part, signature crooked smirk spreading across his face when he’s met with zero resistance, rough palms caressing silky skin as they slide up, fingers gripping and grabbing and kneading.

“Make me know you love me,”

The words taper off into a whine, beginning to sound more like begging than singing, as his body settles between your thighs, hipbones digging into the soft flesh while he hovers above you, supporting his weight on his forearms.

“The same way I love you, little girl,”

Lips trail along your jaw, leaving tender kisses in their wake—unhurried, careful, and full of purpose—as he mumbles against your skin.

“You got me at your mercy, now that I'm in love with you,”

Calloused hands begin to ruck up his t-shirt, digits dipping into the lacy waistband of your panties, his voice starting to tremble ever so slightly.

“So please don't take advantage, cause you know my love is true,”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, sapphire eyes gleaming in the golden sunlight and he pauses, blistering gaze searching your face for something, muscles relaxing and head dipping a moment later to finally press his lips against yours, whispering into the kiss. “Darling please, please love me too, I beg of you,”

And despite all the glitz and glamour, all the extravagance and exhilaration, that comes with each mission, this will always be your favourite part—when it’s only you and him, lounging around in some luxurious five star hotel or some dingy roadside motel, exchanging lazy, messy kisses full of stringy shining saliva, goofing around and whispering stupid Elvis lyrics to each other, words that hold more weight than either of you care to admit.

     ✰          ✰          ✰

It was supposed to be a fairly simple operation—minimal violence, Tomura had instructed. No guns or casualties, if it can be avoided, if Dabi can keep his temper in check. It was supposed to be easy, straightforward, safe.

It was supposed to be. But Dabi gets bored easily, likes a little spike of adrenaline with his missions, rolling his broad shoulders and cracking his neck as he joins the rest of the men around the poker table, a sly smirk on his face as they name the bets and the prizes.

“And my little doll,”

It’s hard to resist rolling your eyes as those four words slip from between his lips, slow and smooth in that deep, lazy drawl, trademark smirk painted across his lips as his lidded eyes scan the faces sitting around the table, an eyebrow raised, daring any of them to protest. Several hungry eyes dart towards you for a moment, standing like the reward you are a few feet behind Dabi and leaning on a railing, a shy little smile briefly gracing your lips in greeting, elegant evening gown shimmering under the crystal lights.

This isn’t new—Dabi usually bets you when he plays. Keeps him sharp, he claims. Keeps him on his toes, keeps it fun when there’s something important at stake, something valuable to lose, he says. He plays better that way, he promises.

Except he’s always craved that thrill of danger, has always liked to push further and further simply to see how far he can go before he topples over the edge. It’s a rush, a blast, a high akin to the morphine that so often flows through his veins, and he fucking lives for it.

It’s been over an hour now, since those words were murmured in that velvet voice, floating across the table and cloaking the thoughts of the other men like a lethal haze, most of whom can’t seem to keep their eyes from wandering back to you every so often, leering gazes coating your skin with grime you itch to scrub off.

But that’s the point—or it’s supposed to be, anyway. That’s the whole reason you’re here in the first place. To act as a distraction, Tomura’s words drift through your mind, just whisps of his voice that tickle the walls of your skull.

And what a perfect distraction you are, in a Dior dress that looks like it was made only for you, tapered perfectly to every curve and edge of your body, silk flowing gracefully with every miniscule movement, with every rise and fall of your chest.

But it bores you to tears, this poker game, eyes dry and sticky, sick of staring at the back of your boyfriend’s immaculate, intricate hair as his nimble fingers play with the mountain of chips accumulating in front of him, plastic clacking together as he shuffles through them.

You had begged him to let you go shopping—just for the first half of the game, you swear!—but he refused. I need my good luck charm there with me the entire time, babydoll, he told you, brushing calloused fingers down your cheek then tracing along the line of your jaw, gazing at you with brilliant sapphire that glitters in the late afternoon sun, streaming in through the hotel’s floor-length windows. We can go shopping after the game is finished, he promised.

You regarded him with skepticism.

“And dancing?”

“Of course,” he responded with a playful scoff. “We can dance until our feet are bleeding, pinky promise,”

Keigo comes to join you just before the game passes the two-hour mark, large hands finding purchase on your hips and pulling you back against his chest as his head dips down, soft full lips against your skin.

“Lovely dress you’ve got on,” he murmurs, breath hot against your ear, tickling the shell. “You look stunning—breathtaking—I mean, gosh, look at me, I can barely breathe,” he gasps dramatically, chest heaving against your back as he does so, chuckling when you roll your eyes and giggle at him to shut up, Kei, the vibrations from his laugh a comforting sensation, a familiar sensation, a welcomed sensation, sending warmth spreading through your body. “I’m so happy you’re here,” you whine, leaning further into him and head tilting against his collarbone to gaze up at him. “I’m so bored,”

“Yeah, I bet,” he says, something unusual—unreadable—settling in his topaz eyes as he glances up at the table. “You aren’t used to games lasting this long, are you, baby,”

A little pout settles on your lips and you nod, playing right into his condescending cooing as you snuggle into him, eyes following his stare. Truthfully, you haven’t a clue what’s going on, and, really, you couldn’t care less. You aren’t entirely sure what the significance of this poker game is, or who most of these men are, and you aren’t allowed to. Just sit pretty and perfect like you always do; it’s the thing you do best.

Except tonight—tonight something is different, unsettling, off. It’s no big deal, though, of course—you can almost hear that deep, dark voice drawling the words out in your mind, phantom breath tickling your skin.

Because Dabi’s always been startlingly good at what he does. Because Dabi’s always been able to worm his way out of a difficult situation. Because there’s never really been a reason to worry about it before, anyway. But tonight—well, tonight you’re watching as his Balenciaga clad shoulders are getting tenser, and tenser, as his jaw is clenching tighter, and tighter, as his grip on that singular sparkly chip resting in his palm is becoming stronger, and stronger, thin skin stretching painfully over sharp bony knuckles.

Keigo’s breath is bated, his fingers digging into your hips as he observes the game unfolding in front of the both of you, pulling you closer to him, hushed curses falling from his lips every so often. And Keigo knows what’s happening, of course, but he refuses to tell you, promising you that you wouldn’t understand even if he tried to explain it. Creases form on your forehead as your eyebrows knit, eyes drifting back to the table. Whatever it is, it’s clear that it isn’t good, Keigo’s body tensing against yours as he sucks in a breath and holds it for a moment before blowing it out from his mouth, exasperated.   “Well, I’m positive it’s fine,” you say, trying to wave it off lightly, to whisk away the acrimonious dread that roots deep in the pit of your stomach and begins to spread, thick and dense as it slithers into your surrounding organs, to brush off the impending sense of foreboding that seems to lurk over you, getting heavier and heavier, darker and darker with each second that ticks by—though your voice sounds high to your ears, tinny and false. “Dabi’s never lost a game before, that’s why they send him to these things,” But Keigo doesn’t sound so sure, responding with a nervous breath of a laugh, lithe fingers flexing on your hips, rubbing little lopsided circles into the flesh. “First time for everything, songbird,”

The words send ice piercing through your veins, but you persevere, rolling your shoulders and standing up a little straighter, swallowing past the painful lump that’s lodged itself in your throat. It’s fine. It’s always fine. He’s always found a way to get out of messy, tight situations before. Why should tonight be any different?

It won’t be, it isn’t—you can already see Dabi collapsing on the cream sofa upstairs in your luxurious hotel room, tugging at his bowtie with a sigh as his head falls back, nimble fingers popping the first few buttons on his crisp white dress shirt, and had you scared for a moment there, didn’t I, kitten?

And you’ll playfully slap his shoulder as you crawl into his lap, roll your eyes as you straddle his hips and allow him to tilt the champagne flute to your lips, laugh it off as his hands begin to wander, rucking up your dress and kneading your ass, cock tenting his expensive trousers. Like always. You’re sure of it

It’s just past the three-hour mark when Keigo speaks again, all traces of teasing, of that easygoing lilt that is so distinctly him, gone from his voice. Golden locks stand in all directions, his hair having fallen out of its usual ducktail style, a curtesy of fingers raking through it nervously. His smile is tight as he looks down at you, front teeth nibbling at his cuticles as he speaks, muffled a little by his fingers. “Maybe we should get you out of here, sweetheart—”

“No,” you respond instantly with a firm shake of your head. “I’m not going anywhere,”

“Sunshine, listen—”

“I said, no, Kei,” you pull back a little to look at him, resolution sown into your voice, chest puffing out just a touch. “I won’t leave him,”

Honey eyes hold yours for a moment, and you can almost hear Keigo’s molars as they grind together. He exhales a deep sigh a moment later, shaking his head and tugging his fingers through golden strands again. “Alright, alright,” It finally comes to an end, a few minutes past the four-hour mark. Heavy lids start to lift as commotion begins to stir—soft murmurs among the men and chairs scraping against the floor, plastic chips clacking together and the sharp whisp that travels through the air as cards are shuffled—whining a little as you lean further into Keigo, who is now supporting most of your weight.

“Kei, feet hurt,”

“Shh, I know, songbird,” he hushes you, a large palm stroking your head. “But I need you to wake up, sweetheart,”

Rough, unfamiliar hands are wrapping around your arms only a moment later, yanking you from the warm sanctuary that is Keigo and hauling you against stiff muscle.

“I believe you’re mine now, darling,”

The words are gravelly, uttered in a low voice against the crown of your head. A vicious shiver crawls along your skin, whole body trembling with the force of it, as your lids snap open.

“Wait, what?” frantic eyes search the gaudy room for familiar cobalt, breath beginning to accelerate as you struggle a little in the grasp of a burly man with one eye. His grip tightens in retaliation and a pained yelp hitches in your throat, Dabi’s eye twitching at the sound. “Dabi? D-Dabi!”

Sapphire blazes into your skull, steadily holding your watery gaze as his jaw clenches, swallowing thickly at the sound of your pitiful little whimpers of his name, at the way you squirm and wiggle in your abductor's grasp, desperate to escape, to get back to him.

“H-Hold on, now,” Keigo begins, holding his hands up in surrender, a motion meant to signify peace, to signify that he isn’t a threat—even though you know he’s got the cold metal of his favourite pistol tucked into the waistband of his trousers and pressed against his warm skin. “Let’s talk this through, yeah? Just wait a minute—”

“Nope,” the man cuts Keigo off mid-sentence with a loud, harsh laugh, and you wince at the sound. “No way, a deal’s a deal, friend. I won her fair and square—she’s mine,”

A light chuckle, laced with irritation and dubiety, escapes Keigo’s lips as he shakes his head a little. “Come on, Dabi jokes around like that all the time,” and while his voice seems amicable on the surface, its ridden with cold undertones, phantom threats that are felt, not said. “And this little lady—as pretty as she is—is a person, not a prize. Taking her against her will is, in fact, kidnapping, and I’ll be forced to—”

“Let him go,”

“What?” the word falls from your lips and Keigo’s simultaneously—one incredulous and pitched high with distress, the other breathed out in disbelief, both equally as concerned—gazes snapping to Dabi, who sits quiet and brooding, dim lights casting shadows on the sharp planes of his face.

Azure drifts between your faces, features ridden with terror and alarm—furrowed brows and deep frowns tugging at the corners of lips, one pair of eyes wide with scepticism, the other pair glistening with tears. Dabi’s silent for another moment before he pushes on his knees and stands, squaring his shoulders and clearing his throat, voice ringing out loud and clear, dripping with admonition. “Let him go. He’s right; he won her, fair and square,”

He speaks slowly, annunciating each word with careful precision, sapphire glinting in the dim light has he holds the muscular man’s gaze. It holds something threatening, something menacing, something terrifying deep within the depths of his eyes, and you feel your captor pause for a second, tense, and then shiver.

“Uh, r-right,” he says, voice wavering a little as he nods to himself. “Fair and square,”

Dabi stalks towards you, shiny oxfords echoing against the pristine, freshly waxed marble floor, tutting his tongue and shaking his head, casual and relaxed as ever.

“Don’t struggle, you hear me?” he says, voice softer, gentler, as a calloused thumb swipes across your cheekbone, catching a stray tear. “Be a good girl for him,”

And I’ll see you soon.

The promise doesn’t need to be vocalized—you can see it, shining bright and true in his sapphire eyes, can sense it, in the air surrounding him, can feel it, at the very core of your soul.

A sudden sense of relief floods your body, pathetic little sobs getting caught in your chest as you exhale shakily and deflate in the burly man’s arms, tears finally spilling over your lashline and streaming down your cheeks.

“Okay,” you breathe.

Dabi gives you a simple nod, lips quirking up into a ghost of his signature lopsided smirk. Okay.

And just like that, all of the fear and trepidation and panic vanishes from your body, a serene calm chased by a sense of giddiness replacing it, scorching through your veins.

Because before the door to the man’s hotel room has even swung fully shut, Dabi’s barreling through, crystal handle smashing against the wall and cracking as skilled fingers tangle in short hair, yanking the man’s head back with a sickening crack and dragging the razor-sharp edge of his favourite switchblade across the man’s exposed throat.

He moves like a flash of light, a spark igniting a fire, so fast he’s merely a blur of black and navy and blazing sapphire. Thick crimson begins pouring from the wound immediately, a large splice spanning from one earlobe all the way to the other.

The man hits the shiny hardwood floor with a distinct thump, but you aren’t paying attention to him or the way he’s writhing as he tries to claw at his neck, coughing and gagging as he begins to choke on his own blood.

No, you’re captivated by sapphire, bright and burning as it surges towards you, calloused hands seizing your face roughly as chapped lips find yours, unforgiving and ferocious, bloody knife still in one hand, cool metal pressed against your cheek, smearing streaks of scarlet across your skin as you try to get closer to him, to get more, the stench of copper stinging your nose.

It’s eradicated in an instant though, Dabi’s heady scent—campfire and hickory wood and expensive cologne—filling your lungs, your mind, your entire being as it curls around you in the most intoxicating embrace, familiar and comforting and him, him, him. Stumbling backwards, you just about trip over your own feet as Dabi shoves forward, strong hands wrapped around your biceps keeping you steady. The sharp edge of the small rosewood dining table digs into your lower back, Dabi swallowing your resounding yelp as he sucks your bottom lip between his teeth and tugs, large hands finding your waist and squeezing before he hoists you onto its surface, using his hipbones to force your thighs open.

You nearly topple over from the power, from the urgency, hands flying out behind you and grappling against the table’s surface to keep you sitting upright as he heaves and pushes and leans against you, motions knocking sparkling crystal glasses and fine porcelain plates off the top.

The sound of shattering glass and cracking china mingles with the gurgling and garbling of the man who lay a few feet away on the floor, suffocating on his own blood. It creates such a beautiful symphony, intertwined with Dabi’s ragged breaths and your broken moans, with the ruffling of clothing and the screech of the table legs against the gleaming hardwood floor. And it’s desperate, and needy, and messy, teeth clashing and clacking together violently, saliva dripping down chins as tongues rub and glide and lick, hands pawing and gripping and tugging and ripping, the delicate material of your silk Dior dress practically turning to ash as his fingers materialize through it, tearing it to shreds.

“Off, off, off, I need this off,” he’s growling against your lips as his hands work, a low whine getting caught in your throat as you nod frenetically.

Yes, yes, yes, you’re whimpering, your own little fingers helping him destroy the silvery fabric, eager and anxious to rid your body of the bothersome garment.

A guttural groan, deep and dark and inducing a fluttering in your tummy rumbles in his chest as his eyes roam over your body, clad in the daintiest white lace.

“You’re fucking gorgeous, y’know that,” he’s mumbling between sharp bites to the flesh of your neck, fingers snapping the clasp of your bra, breaking it in one simple motion. “A fuckin’ angel, that’s what you are, baby. My very own angel,”

Rough palms slide down your torso, slow and purposeful as they trace, feel, knead the dips and curves, planes and contours of your body, slender fingers pausing to play with the elastic of the garter belt adorning your waist, holding up your lace-trimmed thigh-highs which have begun to tear, then hooking in the waistband of your thong.

His cock grinds against your inner thigh, hot and hard and throbbing as it strains against his trousers, digits toying with the lacy elastic, twirling it between his fingers before he lets it snap back against your skin, the harsh slap! echoing throughout the hotel room. 

“Oh, Mister, I want it,” the plead falls from your lips in a shameless moan, high and whiny as your hips press forward in an attempt to grind against him. Slender fingers untangle themselves from the lacy fabric in an instant, gripping your hips to still them, fingertips digging into your flesh. “I need it,”

“Need what, dollface?” his lips brush against your skin as he speaks, teeth sinking into your collarbone a moment later, hard enough to break the skin, a loud cry getting caught in your chest. He sucks on the wound, hard, tongue laving over it in soothing little circles, slowly dragging over the bite.

And it’s a compulsion, a sickness, a fucking disease surging through your veins, infecting your mind with thoughts of him and only him, entire body buzzing with the desperate, pathetic, urgent need for him, for his cock, for his cum.

“Need you, need you,” you’re whimpering out, squirming and struggling a little in his grasp, a warning hiss spit through his teeth as blunt nails nip your skin. “Please, Dabi, please, lemme have it,”

“Have what, baby?” lips curling up into a coy smirk, he pulls back just enough to look at you, finally pushing his hips into yours, a patronizing laugh spilling from his throat as you instantly grind against his cock, impatient and impetuous. “Use your words, Mister wants to hear you say it,”

Scalding heat seeps into your cheeks as you squeeze your eyes shut tightly, a broken whine of complaint sounding in the back of your throat as you shake your head. “Y-You know,” you mumble. “You know,”

“Oh, come on, baby,” he tuts with a disappointed shake of his head, voice overflowing with condescension. “You act like such a little slut, but as soon as I want you to say what you apparently need oh-so-badly, you can’t? You get all shy and bashful like you’re innocent, or something?”

An arrogant chuckle bubbles up in his chest, a rough palm colliding with the flesh of your ass a moment later. Scarred lips graze your ear as he leans back in, speaking low and smooth, words leaving his mouth in a huff of warm, sweet breath. “You’re being bad, y’know that?”

The huskiness in his tone sends chills pebbling across your skin, a delicate shiver dancing up your spine.

“Please,” you whisper, bottom lip beginning to tremble. “Please, Mister, please,”

“Tell me,” he rasps, taking the lobe of your ear between his teeth and sucking, bruising his name into the sensitive skin. “I know you can do it, doll. What is it that you want? Tell me,”

And, God, it’s so embarrassing, vision blurring with the sting of tears, entire body beginning to tremble from the combined humiliation and lust surging through your veins, his clothed cock still rutting against your core, poking and prodding and so close, you’re so close, two tiny words, just say them. “Your—Your cock,” you almost yelp, blinking back the tears in your eyes as you try to gaze levelly at him, teeth digging into your bottom lip to quell its pathetic quivering. “W-Want your cock, please, Mister, I-I need it,”

“Yeah?” he breathes while he rests his forehead against yours, butting forward a little as his glazed eyes rapidly search your face, pupils blown to hell and lips bitten red, shining with spit. “Where, huh? Down here?”

A finger tugs the flimsy soaked lace to the side, another dark chuckle slipping from his lips as he drags a knuckle up your dripping slit.

“Here?” it presses into your cute little hole, your hips eagerly bucking forward in response.

“Yes, yes, there, Mister, there, please,” you keen, head nodding in almost frantic movements, skull knocking against his. “Please, n-no fingers, want your cock, need your cock, stretch me out, fill me up, I need it,”

And it’s your senseless babbling that does it, bratty and needy and incessant in high broken whines, that snaps the final thread of patience holding him back, and a growl rips from his chest, so violent it vibrates through your own.

The heavy buckle of his belt clinks as hasty fingers fiddle with it, shoving his trousers down his thighs just enough to free his cock.

You can’t help the mortifying moan that escapes your throat the moment you see it, velvety and pink and oh-so-pretty, flushed tip glistening with precum and two thick veins snaking around the shaft like vines.

“Christ,” he groans as he pushes into your cunt, burying himself inside of you in one swift thrust, your nails biting into the hard muscles of his shoulder through the thin material of his shirt as your hole stretches around him, both of you exhaling simultaneous sighs of relief.

It burns and it stings and God, you need more, eyes rolling back in your skull as the sharp heels of your stilettos dig into his lower back, little fingers tangling in white cotton as you try to pull him closer, closer, closer.

“Greedy little brat,” he snarls out as his hips begin snapping, the movement sudden, unexpected, welcomed, a choked cry of his name catching in your throat.

And it’s brutal and relentless, primal and desperate, lacking most of his usual finesse as he pounds into you, cockhead slamming against your cervix with every harsh thrust of his hips, hard enough to move the entire table itself, legs scraping against the floor a little more with each pump.

Inky curls cling to his forehead and temples, the white cotton of his dress shirt becoming translucent as it sticks to his damp skin, highlighting the hard planes of defined muscle that flex with each ragged inhale.

Surging forward, his tongue runs along the inside of your teeth before it drags against yours, slow and heavy, depositing his taste and staining it with the flavour of him, fiery cinnamon gum and smoky Marlboros. Gorgeous, needy little whines break in his throat in time with each strong piston of his hips, muffled by your mouth, and you greedily swallow whatever he’ll afford you.

It’s total sensory overload—he’s all you can see, all you can hear, all you can taste, touch, breathe, hijacking all of your receptors and overwhelming you with him.

It’s building inside of you, deep in the pit of your stomach, scorching flames that glow as blue as his eyes as they rage, climbing higher and higher, licking at your insides and expanding further and further until they finally engulf you, consume you, with their blaze, and everything shatters, body convulsing almost violently around his cock as you cum with a strained cry of his name.

“Fill me, Mister,” you’re babbling, begging, swearing you’ll die if he doesn’t, the flames will burn you to ash if you don’t get his cum soon, voice absolutely wrecked. “Fill me, fill me,”

And he obeys, filling your cute little cunt to the brim with thick, hot cum as his cock pulses, a cracked whimper of f-fuck, slipping past his lips.

His chest heaves as he collapses against you, the two of you falling back against the table’s surface with a thump, his cock still buried inside of you. A soft whine sounds in the back of your throat as you carefully unlock your legs from around him, wincing a little at the stiffness in your thighs.

I love you.

The three words are murmured into your shoulder, so soft you barely hear them, so quiet you’re sure you’d have imagined them had you not felt his lips move against your flesh, not felt his hot breath on your skin, not felt the gentle vibrations in his chest as he spoke.

“I love you,” you respond, voice tender as tiny fingers comb through his dishevelled hair. “I love you,”

He’s silent for a moment, your combined pants the only sounds ringing out among the hotel room, and then he nods—once at first; just a quick, sharp motion, and then again a moment later, with more vigour, more purpose, more acceptance.

Little hands smooth down the damp cotton hugging his back and your head lolls to the side, cheek pressed against the cool wood of the table. A certain type of giddiness—a type that’s sick, that’s twisted, that’s stuffed full of love—floods your body as your eyes connect with those of a dead man, laying in a pool sticky crimson, and God, yes, you love him, you love him, you love him—more than anyone else ever could, more than you could ever love anything else.