#the instant i lost all respect for her

[youcanthandelthetruth]

Anyway per last reblog I was idk 7 or 8? when my mom made me choose a poem and memorize to recite in front of the entire family. And I am probably going to force that on Sweet Bean too even though I hated it at the time. But I also thought it would be neat if there was a poem he knew by heart instinctively, without even remembering when he'd learned it.

[pinkfey]

since we're on the topic of mandated besties i wanna talk abt dana and liara bc i tripped the other day and got really into them

[envy-of-the-apple]

Family Man Part 2

Yandere!Gojo Satoru x reader

Part One

Word Count: 8.9k

thx to a very lovely commissioner!!!

Synopsis : Two months after Satoshi’s death, you and your daughter struggle to move on. You’re so lucky that Gojo is there to pick up the pieces.

(Yandere, smut, oral sex both m/f receiving, lactation kink, implied depression, masochistic gojo, ooc gojo, never rlly fixed that, reader has dark skin, xenophobia(NOT by gojo))

Sometimes, you're in bed, and feel like he's right beside you. 

For a moment, the last two months disappear. You feel whole again. Sometimes, it’s enough to make you turn around, words on your tongue, already ready to smile and greet him with a kiss. 

He isn't there. Nothing's behind you. 

And you feel empty all over again. 

It's better somedays. The emptiness. It's like a looming visage of gloom. Farther away one day, in your bed the next. Lately, it's growing bigger and bigger. A dark cloud on your shoulder, resting heavier and heavier on your back. 

Grief. Mourning. Loss. 

When you open the door, the mailman smiles cheerily at you. 

"Morning!" He chirps. "Lovely weather we're having today."

You nod, silent as he begins to dig through his bag. He's younger than you, you note. By a decade, at the very least. Barely in his twenties. When you were his age, you were still back home, in the village. When you were his age, Japan was just a faraway country, hardly worth your notice. 

He hands you your dues. You take them with a respectful thank you. And then you wait for the inevitable. 

On cue, his smile fades. Something pitying fills his gaze. You force yourself to stare right back at him. Insecurity bites at you, and you know he's staring at your dull face. The circles underneath your eyes. 

In the background, Reina babbles. He's forced to take his eyes off of you momentarily. 

"I heard about your husband." He starts, still staring inside your home. Your hands tighten into fists. "I'm sorry for your loss." 

He bows. So do you. 

"Thank you." You tell him, rehearsed, just like you practiced millions and millions of times. "I...appreciate it." 

He smiles, as if he think he did something, made your life a little easier. You let him bathe in his graciousness, before you shut the door. Away from the sunlight, away from fabricated sympathies. You finally feel like you can breathe again. 

It's been like this ever since Satoshi died. 

Car wreck. Some drunk had driven too close to the curb. Satoshi had been walking home. He'd missed the bus, he does that often. It's a usual quirk of his, you'd often found it adorably clumsy. Being late was harmless. He wasn't supposed to die for it. It'd been an instant kill, for the both of them. No other witnesses. The scene was cleaned up by the time you got there. The officers kept you in dread for four hours. In that time, you could almost convince yourself that it wasn't him. The reason why he wasn't answering your calls was because his phone had died. He was lost on the other side of town. He was anywhere else, doing anything else. 

You were brought to identify the body. Your eyes couldn’t deny what you saw.

You think a part of yourself died with your husband, too. You drift through life like a ghost. Mindless, numb. Colors have all bled into grayish blues. You don’t really feel much of anything anymore.

Reina squeals. You blink back to reality.

She’d dropped her toy. You pick it up. It was a purple stuffed rabbit. Satoshi had gotten it for her the day she was born. She doesn’t even sleep without it.

These days, Reina is the only thing that makes you get up in the morning, even when you don’t want to. She’s the only thing you push yourself for.

You don’t know where you’d be without her.

She’s giggles when you hand it back. She doesn’t even know. How can you even begin to tell your infant that her father is no longer coming home? Someone so new at life should not experience death this soon. It’s a sin. Someone has cursed her. It’s the only explanation you could give.

You kiss her on the top of her head. Her baby hairs are still growing. They resemble yours. Every part of her was you. When you look at her, you don’t see Satoshi.

You used to tease him about it; now, you wish there was just a tiny bit of him on her face.

Or maybe it was a good thing? Did you even want to see the man you loved, mourned for, and hated to think about in your daughter’s eyes? Would it break you even further?

You don’t have to think about questions like those. You have more important things to worry about. When you rifle through the mail, your heart sinks.

Warnings, bills, everything that Satoshi used to handle. Even when your world stopped, the rest of the planet didn’t: ever turning, ever malevolent.

You place the bills down. Reina babbles something.

You bend down to pick her up, she screams in delight when you place her on your lap, peppering her face with kisses.

And maybe your world hadn’t stopped, not just yet.

“There are stains on your blouse.”

You glance down before shrugging.

“Reina dropped her food.” You shrug. “I didn’t have time to clean it up.”

Kiyo doesn’t look very happy about your excuse. She doesn’t say anything about it, preferring to glare at you in silent disapproval as she always does. Usually, you’d have Satoshi acting as a barrier between you and your mother-in-law. For obvious reasons, that wasn’t feasible at the moment.

Reina was being entertained by your father-in-law. Satoshi had inherited Isamu’s bald spot as well as his gentleness. Reina kicked her feet as Isamu muttered soft words, as though they were communicating, even though Reina hadn’t even said her first words yet.

Another milestone Satoshi would miss.

“We made adjustments to the will,” Kiyo announces. “Everything will be passed onto Reina when she comes of age.”

You nod, not very interested in politics and lands. Satoshi came from a traditional family. Japanese nobility, though he wasn’t fond of talking about his background. You were always fine with it. You never married him for the money, despite what your mother-in-law thinks.

On cue, Kiyo snaps her fingers. You blink in her direction.

She frowns, but you’ve never seen her smile in your presence.

“I would appreciate if you could pay attention when discussing my grandchild’s future.” She more or less hisses.

“I am,” you give. “Trust me, no one else is more invested in my daughter’s future than me.”

It makes her even more mad, but you’re too drained to play ‘submissive daughter-in-law’ with her. From the moment Satoshi introduced you as his fiance’, Kiyo had hated you. Nothing you did could make her like you. Not even when you learned the language perfectly, immersed yourself in Japanese culture.

She never said it out loud, but you knew what she thought of you. She wanted someone different for her son: someone with pale skin, straight hair, and Japanese heritage.

You wonder if she blames you for his death.

“You haven't gone to visit him,” She says, after she breaks her death stare, “you should.”

A part of you wants to say no, but you’re in her home, and you know she doesn’t take it lightly when guests (not family, you were not family) reject her. So you do as she suggested. You rise, glancing at Reina before ultimately stepping out of Satoshi’s childhood home.

He was just as you had left him. His gravestone stood tall and proud. Even next to all the other graves, his was the tallest. It must be Kiyo’s doing. No matter the gripes she had about you, her child would always reach for the skies.

His incense had to be switched. You did so, throwing out the burnt sticks and replacing them with new ones. You watched the smoke flicker away from his altar. A lone picture of him, a shy smile. It was from back when he was younger. His hair was still there. An office job hadn’t dulled his eyes.

You wanted to keep the ashes. Just a tiny piece of him, tucked by your own altar you had. Kiyo had refused, wanting the entire body to be cremated and kept in one piece. Too broken, you hadn’t pushed. Now, all you were left with his clothes and the fading scent on the pillows. You regret not fighting more that day.

You don’t cry. Not today. A part of you is proud. It feels like it’s much too early to feel so numb to this grave. It’s too early for this to feel normal.

You touch the cold stone. It’s smooth underneath your fingertips.

Your in-laws are right inside the house. You still feel lonely.

“You shouldn’t have left.” You told the tomb. “You shouldn’t have abandoned me like this.”

When you curse Satoshi’s grave, you could have sworn you felt a tiny tingle by your neck.

On Thursdays, you take Reina shopping.

She’s a hit with the local farmers market. The shopkeepers coo at her giggles and beautiful eyes as you haggle prices for vegetables and grains. It’s nice to get back on routine. Even with everything going on.

The bills were still on the counter when you left. More and more were coming in. You feel like you were being buried alive.

Reina kicks her feet. When you look at her, her chubby cheeks are stretched in the wide smile. You smile back, and then you pepper her face with kisses. These days, you’ve opted out of the bus, trying to save some money. It’ll just be until you find a job. Then, you can take as many Air-conditioned rides as you want.

There’s a honk. You ignore it. A car rolls to a stop beside the sidewalk. You take a peek, and then you stop and stare.

“Mr. Gojo?” You ask.

“Hey! Long time!” The man waves cheerily.

You give a timid smile, waving. Reina, your polar opposite, screams in delight. She frantically leans out of your arms as though she could get to Gojo by sheer will. You quickly rearrange your hands to balance her.

“What’re you doing out there?” He frowns. “Especially in this heat?”

“Ah.” Subconsciously, you wipe the sweat off your neck. “We were heading home from the market.”

He brightens. “Wanna hop in? It’s way too hot to walk that far.”

You smile, about to politely decline but then you remember infants shouldn’t be in this weather for too long.

Gojo’s car is luxurious, but the biggest relief is the cool air blowing over your heated skin. Reina is ecstatic to be next to Gojo. She babbles something, reaching out her tiny arms. Gojo takes her immediately.

“And how’s the prettiest girl in the world doing, today?” He grins, lifting her above his head. She coos.

You’re not really sure how Gojo walked into your life. You met him once before. That day when Satoshi had a mental breakdown and practically ran away from home. Gojo was so ansty back then, and it made sense why he and your husband got along so well.

He was the one who brought home Satoshi’s essentials from work—his computer, his notes—and then he started delivering Satoshi’s work mail. Then, sometimes, he’d stop by for lunch. And then he started bringing toys for Reina. Two months passed, and you know him now.

Not well. But you know Gojo enough to slip into the passenger seat, watching how he handles Reina.

“Okay, Car ride!” He tells her. She claps her hands as he gently hands her back to you.

“Thank you again, Mr. Gojo.” You tell him. “Really, this means a lot.”

He waves you off, starting the car. “Don’t worry about it, Seriously. Got nothin’ better to do anyway. Also, I told you already, call me Satoru.”

You smile, shifting away. You don’t know why Gojo is insistent on helping a widow. He was the friend of your late husband (though, strangely, Satoshi never spoke of the man before or after the quick introductions). Maybe it’s guilt. But unlike the rest of the people who knew, Gojo never once looked at you like that as though you were in pieces in front of him. It was nice, finally having someone like that. Someone who doesn’t see you as the widow of a dead man.

He was a nice young man. You shouldn’t be so quick to assume everyone has an underlying motive.

Maybe some people were just as they are. Nice.

“Grocery shopping?” He mentions to your bag. It creases under your grip.

You nod. “Dinner. You’re welcome to join, but I’m not making anything special.”

“I’d never pass up a meal from you, ma’am,” Gojo says, happily.

You like to keep to yourself, but he was driving you home. It was the least you could do to pay back his hospitality, as well as the other things he had done for you. Honestly, your bucket for Gojo’s hospitality wasn't yet empty.

When the car rolls to a stop, Gojo hops out, opening the door before you can touch it. You thank him, Reina huddled safely in your arms and fast asleep. Gojo grins, not before grabbing your groceries and leading the way.

Your house is sparser than it had been just months ago. Less decoration. Less silly memoirs. No pictures. You dumped them all, stored them in a tiny box before locking them all in the attic. You couldn’t bring yourself to throw it away.

Gojo waltzes into your home like he owns it. You don’t mind. He’s young, still in his twenties, at his prime. These days, you can feel things start to break down within you. Your shoulder hurts when you sleep on it the wrong way. You have to be more careful about picking up things from off the ground. You can’t tell whether this has to do with the remnants of pregnancy or your age, but you’re envious of Gojo’s youthful strength either way.

He places the bags on the counter. By then, Reina’s awake. She blearily blinks at you. You were hoping she’d stay asleep for a little while longer.

“I can watch her!” Gojo pipes up, extending his hands. Reina’s overjoyed to be handed over. It’s nice to have your hands full with something else other than baby

You listen to them giggle while you get started on dinner. It’s your usual dance. Potatoes. The sounds of boiling water. You want to make something simple, but Gojo is here, and you don’t want to disappoint your guest. By the time you’re back out, it’s nearly an hour, and the food has yet to be served.

They don’t seem to mind. Gojo had taken Reina onto the floor. You don’t complain. It’s where she usually played anyway. He was driving one of her wooden cars on the carpet, running it across the floor, as Reina clapped to her heart’s content. You could only watch, heart strangely numb.

He’s good with her.

Like Satoshi was.

You clear your throat. Gojo looks up.

“Food’s ready.” You tell him with a stiff smile. “Why don’t you wash up? I’ll take care of her.”

“Be good, okay?” He pats Reina’s head before standing up. You take her into your arms.

She’s tired from playing. Reina settles in the crib rather nicely. It’s relieving. When she’s asleep, you can’t bring yourself to leave. You watch her. Her chest rises and falls. She snores. It’s the most adoring noise you’ve ever heard.

When you head back to the kitchen, Gojo’s already back. He grins, clearly eager.

“You cooked a lot.” He comments when you two finally settle down. “Not that I’m complaining!”

“I hope it’s to your liking,” you say as always.

And it is. Gojo never hides from giving his compliments. He’s so genuine and sincere, and it makes you a bit bashful.

“Mrs. Sawai, this stuff right here is sometimes the highlight of my day,” he says. You shake your head.

“It’s true! You have talent. You should open up a restaurant or something! Wait no, don’t do that...you’d be booked for years, and I’ll never eat your cooking again.” That makes you laugh. He seems pleased for some reason.

“Thank you,” you say, “I appreciate that.”

“How was your week? Your students?” You prod.

“Good. They’re all good!” He chirps back. “I was out of town for the week, so returning to my precious students was the best.” He sighs. “Sometimes, I wish I could just pack them all in my suitcase and take ‘em with me. They’re the cutest things.”

He said he taught at a religious school, which you found strange because Gojo didn’t really strike you as religious. Nevertheless, he seemed very passionate about teaching. It was rather endearing.

Did Satoshi ever have that kind of passion for his job?

“Reina reminds me of them. The youth.” Gojo adds. “Endless potential. The kids are all like...seeds, right? They just need the proper care to bloom.”

“That’s a nice way of looking at things,” you say.

When dinner’s over, you gather the utensils and bowls. Gojo offers to help, but you don't bite, insisting that he rests. It gives you time to decompress. As much as you like Gojo, he’s a bit severe. You can’t be around him for too long, he’s too bright. His companionship is much like a furnace. Warm, but too much, and you burn.

When you return, you expect him to put his shoes back on, waiting by the door.

Instead, Gojo is perched on the counter—his hands card through your mail.

You stare. He doesn’t seem particularly surprised at being caught. He doesn’t startle; he barely spares you a glance, perusing over your bills like they were his. You know you should say something. Anger. It should bubble up instead of the shame. You open your mouth—

“How much?” He suddenly asks.

You fumble. “What?”

He waves the envelopes. “How much is it?”

You say nothing. He shrugs, as if that’s an answer itself.

Gojo reaches into his pocket and pulls out a checkbook. You move when he plucks a stray pen from the counter.

“What are you doing?” You ask, incredibly lost.

“I’m not real good with money.” He sheepishly admits before tearing off the slip and handing it to you. “But this should be enough, right?”

You stare at the amount. You’ve never held this much money before.

“I can’t accept this.” You instantly say. Instinct.

You go to hand this back. He puts a hand on his chin.

“Tell you what.” He tells you. “If I gotta take this back, I’m just gonna head to the bank, cash it in myself, and throw all the money into the river.” He grins at your horrified expression. “And it’ll all be in Yuan, so even if someone fishes it out, no one’s gonna be able to use it. One way or another, that money’s getting outta’ my bank.”

His voice softens, akin to butter. It melts into your ears.

“This isn’t out of obligation or anything. I’m giving this to you because I want to help my friend. That’s it.”

Gojo has never looked at you in pity, not like the others. He’s always looked at you like...well, you could never understand his expression. You stare at him. His sunglasses have tilted over, showcasing those gorgeous blue eyes.

Why? Why are you doing this? You want to ask him. It’s killing you inside. Is it pity for the wife of a dead friend? Why was he doing this to you?

You think of Reina. Happy giggling, Reina, with your eyes and your hair.

“It’s not like I don't have any to spare. I’m, like, loaded,” Gojo continues with his usual snark, and you think of the fancy black car parked in front of your tiny house. “And if that isn’t enough for you, just think of it as me paying you back after all those times I’ve eaten your food.”

You lower your gaze when you take the check.

“I’ll pay you back—”

“—I won’t accept it.” He grins, and you have to smile at his tenacity.

“Thank you. No, really.” You keep the check close to your chest. “Thank you, Mr.Gojo.”

He angles his sunglasses down. He looks expectant. Just this once.

“Thank you, Satoru.”

“No problem!” He pops his frames back into place.

You see him off. When he’s behind the wheel, he gives an excited wave. You shyly wave back.

And then you feel a touch right on your back. When you turn, there’s nothing but air.

Sometimes, you dream of home.

Your real home. The village is far, far away from Japan. Where you lived with your parents and siblings and aunts and uncles and cousins and grandparents. On sweltering summer nights, you and the other children would sleep on the terrace underneath the stars. There were dirt paths, and rolling hills but the sky was clear every night.

In the village, tradition was everything. You used to hate it. Every day was the same. An endless cycle. You used to dance back then, your family had pushed you into it. As a child, you thought it was stupid.

Maybe that’s what pulled you towards the city—bustling roads, people everywhere. Your college was a town in and of itself. You met so many new people every day.

Satoshi was one of them.

When you brought them to your family, everyone was in awe. He was a foreigner. He was well-off, too; he came from a traditional Japanese family.

It was your Nani who pulled you aside as your family gushed about him.

“Are you sure about this one?” She had asked.

You nodded. Back then, you were young and in love. He was everything you could have dreamed of. New, exciting.

She doesn’t smile.

“Be careful.”

You remembered her words, even after you ran off with Satoshi to Japan. You remembered her words even after Satoshi assured you he wanted you to stay home and he’d work. You remembered her words when Reina was born. You remembered her words when you and Satoshi’s lives were perfect and happy.

And then you woke up.

Your village was gone. Instead of waking up in a pile of your siblings, you were alone on a giant bed.

It’s dark in your home. Satoshi hated having the lights off.

You looked to the crib. Reina was still asleep. During nights like these, you often bring her to sleep with you. It still isn’t enough, sometimes.

You’re a terrible mother. Why isn’t your own daughter enough for you?

Careful not to wake her, you slip out of bed, walking into the closet. You reach up, feeling your way on one of the shelves.

The photo album is dusty. You cough a bit when you open the book.

There’s you. Younger, stupider, garbed in your traditional dance dress. You always found that outfit so itchy. The photo was taken right after you’d placed first in one of your last competitions. Even in the photo, you had this look of disdain, holding that trophy like it was nothing but a heavy burden.

You still have that trophy a decade later.

You flip another page. Your parents. Your cousins. Your Aunts and Uncles. You stare at the photo of you holding your baby cousin. He was the same age as Reina when that picture was taken. That was ten years ago.

You can’t remember the last time you saw your family. Reina hadn’t met her grandparents, her own cousins. You never got the chance to. Satoshi was always so anxious about leaving Japan.

They’ve seen her, through video calls and photos. But that’s different than touching her, bonding with her.

You stare at the photo of you posing with the rest of your siblings and cousins. Strangely, you feel like you robbed something from Reina.

You miss home.

You cry until the album shuts itself closed, and the sun starts peeking through the windows.

“You good?” Satoru suddenly asks.

You blink, eyelashes fluttering as you stare at him. He’s on the floor again, watching Reina as she clacks a few wooden blocks together. It isn’t quiet. The babbling, too. She’d already knocked over the tower Satoru had built. He didn’t seem too upset by her destruction.

“Oh,” you say, “yes. Yes, I’m fine. Thank you.”

As discretely as you can, you rub at your eyes, hoping that would shoo the dark circles away. It doesn’t help.

“I...just haven’t been sleeping too well these days. That’s all.”

Reina says something, not too happy with the lack of attention. Satoru gives her another block. He’d given her a bunch of toys, this time. You weren’t sure where to even store half of them. If he kept this up, pretty soon Reina’s entire room will be filled with dolls mirrors, and blocks.

“What’s been going on?” He asks.

You’re not sure how to answer that. You aren’t sure what’s been going on yourself. All that you know is that it’s getting worse. You can’t sleep at night, most nights like there’s something pressing you down. Things are going missing. You feel like you’re being watched constantly over and over again.

It only goes away whenever Satoru’s around. Maybe that’s why you’re more tolerant of his space.

“It’s nothing,” you say, “I’ve just misplaced a few things. It’s been aggravating looking for them.”

“Hm.” He cocks his head, you can’t decipher his tone. “Really?”

“I’ll find them eventually.”

He’s silent for a few more moments and then—

“Maybe you’re haunted.”

You laugh. It’s mean and sardonic, but you haven’t laughed in a while, and you hide away when Satoru stares.

“A ghost?” You question. “Those don’t exist.”

In the village, superstition was everywhere. Guess that never changed, no matter what corner of the world you ran to.

“Not a ghost.” He corrects. “Maybe something else.”

You hum, unamused. Satoru turns to Reina with an all-too-wide smile on his face.

“It’ll be right behind you, and you won’t even know it.” He tells her. “Then, it’ll draw closer, and closer, and closer until....it gets ya—”

To further his point, his hands shoot out to lightly jostle her. Reina squeals, absolutely thrilled.

Then, Satoru turns to you.

“Or something like that.”

You aren’t impressed.

“Ghosts aren’t real.” You tell him.

“They certainly aren’t.” He agrees. “But other things are.”

Satoshi acted strangely two days before his death.

He was always anxious, but this was even worse than before. Constantly looking behind him, like they’d be something there. You know he wouldn’t sleep. He’d just lay there, shifting in panic.

You don’t prod until you find him in the bathroom in clear hysterics.

“I messed up,” he mumbles over and over again. “I messed up. I messed up.”

“Satoshi.” You beg, kneeling on the tile next to him. “What are you doing? What’s going on?”

“I messed up.” He tells you again. “I keep messing up.”

And then he sobs. He cries so loudly, you’re worried it might wake up Reina. You hug him. Hold him close to your chest, letting him cry himself out.

“I’m sorry.” He tells you. “I’m sorry. I love you. I love Reina. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” You ask.

He looks at you then.

“For cheating.”

You remember every detail. The crinkle in his eyes. The beginning stages of wrinkles in his face. A picture entirely stamped into your memory.

“I forgive you.” You immediately say. “I—I forgive you. We—we can work through this.”

“We can’t.” He shakes his head. “I’m so sorry. You deserve better. She deserves better, too. I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t say anything when you prod. Who, how, when. Your husband cheated on you. You aren’t even allowed to grieve your dying marriage when you have to grieve your dead husband.

You meant what you said. You forgave him. You would have worked through it. Fixed it. Because your marriage with Satoshi was perfect.

Perfect.

Perfect.

It was a perfect marriage when he never stood up for you in front of his mother. It was a perfect marriage when all he did back from work was eat and sleep. It was a perfect marriage when he cheated on you.

Rose-tinted glasses. Maybe your relationship wasn’t the most perfect.

But it was fixable.

Reina’s crying in her crib. The thing on your chest is back.

You fumble through the dark, reaching for her. She’s crying even louder when you pick her up, even when you rock her in your arms.

“Please stop.” You beg. “Please stop crying.”

She doesn’t. The pressure gets bigger.

“Got any plans for the weekend?” Satoru’s asking when you’re finished putting away the groceries. He’d offered you a ride again. You wondered when you stopped being surprised at his frequent pop-ins.

“The same as always,” you respond.

You’re not used to the house being so quiet. Reina’s always doing something. For an infant, she’s rather loud.

But she isn’t here today. Kiyo wanted her Grandaughter for the night. You obliged, letting your Mother-in-law whisk Reina away. Was she even your mother-in-law anymore?

“So nothing?” Satoru prods, and you wonder why he’s so persistent on the answer. Maybe he wants to tease you.

The differences between you and him are staggering. He’s young, still in his twenties, he probably still goes out clubbing, drinking, whatever kids his age are into. You are...older, a mom, unsure if the tight skirts you wore 15 years ago would still fit you.

“If you don't got any plans, why don’t you hang out with me tonight?”

You stare at him.

“Don’t gimme that look. You act like I’m gonna rob you.” He complains. “Let yourself loose a bit. What do you even do for fun, these days?”

That stumped you. Apart from lounging around, sulking, job hunting, revolving around Reina, you haven’t done much. When’s the last time you talked to someone other than Satoru?

“There’s a bar that opened up. Not too far from here.” He muses. “Wanna go?”

You hesitate, “I—I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m not good at handling alcohol—”

“Same! Total lightweight.” He gushes. “It’ll still be fun, though! What do you say?”

Why, you want to ask. Why is he so insistent on spending time with you. Asking about you. About Reina. What does he want from your broken family? Your mind can’t piece together the images—connect the dots.

“Okay,” you say instead.

Three hours later, you’re dressed in the most flattering clothing in the back of your closet. Satoru looks pristine as always, and you wonder if there’s ever a chance he could look any less put together. Under the dim lights, he’s almost glowing. You can’t stare at him for too long.

The conversation is light, not too purposeful. You wander from one topic to the next. He talks about his co-workers. His school. You’ve always wondered about this teaching job. He seemed to never want to shut up about his students, but whenever you try to pry about the details, he starts to drift away. The most you’ve gotten from him was rambling about how it was a private religious school before he sprung into something else.

“Did you have any pets?” He asks, “Growing up, I mean.”

You shrug. “There were a lot of stray dogs, in my hometown. We would feed them, but no. No pets.”

“You?” You prod.

He takes a moment, genuinely thinking.

“My family had a dog, not too long after I was born. After that, nothing.” You were surprised, he answered. The alcohol must make his lips a little looser.

“I think having a dog would be nice,” you muse, mostly to yourself, “maybe an older one. Less energy.”

“What pet do you think I should have?” He asks.

You stare at him. He’s grinning.

“A rock,” you respond, and when he laughs, you laugh a bit, too.

“I like it when you smile like that,” he says when his voice recovers. “You get all blushy.”

You frown, discretely checking your face in the glass.

“I don’t blush.” You say. “My skin’s too dark.”

He tips his sunglasses down, staring at you with those pretty blue eyes. You shift away. His gaze doesn’t let you get far.

“Not really,” he murmurs, tilting his head. “It’s subtle, but it’s still there. It’s a nice color.”

He’s teasing you. You know that. Still, you look away. He laughs again. It sounds like twinkling bells.

“How’s everything holdin’ up with the house?” He asks when you’re nursing your 3rd drink. “I know you had a couple of issues earlier.”

You shrug, lips loose, feeling warm. “I don’t think I have to worry about it. Not anymore.”

“Hm? Why’s that?”

“I’m thinking of going back home.”

He stops messing with his drink. You don’t notice, thoughts hazy.

“Back...to your country?” Satoru asks carefully.

You nod absentmindedly. “I only came here because of Satoshi. Now that he’s...I think it’s best for Reina if we go back.”

You want her to live with her maternal culture. You want her to meet your side of the family finally. Maybe, when she’s older, you can put her in your old dance garments. She’ll probably hate it, much like you did. She’ll be good at it, much like you were.

He’s silent, swirling his glass.

“Really?”

“Yes.” You feel defensive, even when you shouldn’t be. His tone was cool. Yours wasn’t. “It—it’s her home. She should see it.”

“Wasn’t she born here?” Satoru questioned. “Wouldn’t Japan be her home, then?”

You deflate.

“You’re right.” You admit. “Japan is her home, but it isn’t mine.”

You miss home. You miss the village. You’d do anything to go back to the good old times. You’d do anything to be away from this pain.

Japan was empty. Your in-laws barely tolerate you. No friends. No job. The only good memories you had were buried in a tomb, and even those rotted away by lies and deceit.

“I think you should stay,” Satoru says, voice soft.

“Why?” You ask. “I have nothing here.”

“You could.”

You look up. In the dim lights of the bar, he’s breathtaking. Everything you weren’t.

And that everything closes the distance between you and him.

It’s soft. Barely a kiss. His lips are soft; you can smell his shampoo. It lasts for a moment before you’re breaking it. You shy away, staring at the floor beneath you. Your shoes. You can hear your heart. Thump. Thump. Thump.

Satoru follows your mouth. This time, it’s bolder. You can feel his warmth, pressed against your frigid soul. He’s melting you down to bone. There’s a hand on your back, keeping you in place. Fireworks spark at the touch.

It’s been so long since you’ve felt someone like this. Not since...

And then you remember who you’re with, what you’re doing. The ring sits heavy on your finger.

You push away. Satoru falters, and you use that opportunity to stumble to your feet.

“I’m sorry,” You say, “I—I’m—”

You don’t know what to say, so you say nothing. Instead, you turn and flee out the bar. Into the cold frigid night.

You’re drunk. You can feel it in your fingertips, the way your vision gets the slightest bit dizzy when you move too fast. You cling against a random lightpost, checking your phone.

Your place wasn’t that far away. You could walk, right? But it would be safer to call a cab. Better yet, call Kiyo. Call your neighbor. Call anyone?

Oh, you just remembered that you have no one here.

Satoru finds you when you’re already crying. You can feel him on your shoulder before he even says anything.

“Hey,” he says, reaching for you, “c’mon. Let’s get out of the street—”

“Why?” You whirl onto him, so fast that even he’s surprised. “Why are you doing any of this? Reina, me, why do you care so much?”

You’re still crying, but you can feel your tears slow down the tiniest bit. You weren’t breathing. You don’t think he was either.

Satoru opens his mouth. Closes. Opens again. His smile is gone. You can see the imprint of your lipstick on his perfect pout.

“I love you.”

It feels like he just slapped you. A knife in your belly, tearing you apart. Nausea builds in your throat, threatening to spill all over the road. You can’t look at him anymore, it hurts too much. Betrayal. You’re betraying your husband. Your dead cheater husband. 

“Stop.” You beg him anyway, “Don’t say that. Never say that, I can’t think–”

“—Then don’t think.” He insists, sweet, saturated. “Don’t think about any of this.”

He kisses you again, and your mind blanks. You let him this time, and you feel yourself break over it.

This time, Satoru’s the one who breaks it, resting his forehead on yours. You still must look confused. He laughs adoringly.

“C’mon this can’t be too out of left field, right?” He asked. “I mean, I made it pretty obvious.”

He had. You were too preoccupied in your own misery to notice. Offers to drive you to the grocery store. Volunteering to take care of another man’s baby. Satoru has always been direct.

You avoid his gaze, but there’s no where to go.

“Satoru,” you hesitate. “I—I don’t feel that way.”

“I know.” He concedes, trailing his lips down your cheek. You don’t stop him.

“But you need this.” He kisses your neck. “I know you do. You’re so stressed all the time, hm? You need me. Use me. However, you want to.”

Use him. You’ve always used him. What difference would this make?

You still had a chance to stop this. There were so many reasons to stop. You were a recent widow. A single mother. He was so much younger than you—

You kiss him again to stop thinking.

You don’t know what time you stumble through your door.

Satoru hasn’t stopped touching you in the cab, walking up to your patio. If you were sober, you might have been a bit more hysterical about it, now you just wanted him never to stop.

He’s pushing you against the door, slamming it shut with your body weight. You can barely get the words out past his plush lips.

“Bedroom.” You insist.

He pulls away with a laugh. “’course, Babe.”

You’re not sure how to feel about that petname, but you don’t get a moment to complain. He’s effortlessly picking you up, and you settle on the cool comforters moments later.

Your dress is halfway up your thighs. He spares no time, reaching for the back and finding the zipper. It falls apart in his fingers. He peels the fabric off of you with a delighted sigh.

“Fuck, look at you,” he’s saying to the newly uncovered skin. “so so pretty.”

Not used to the attention, you shy away. He doesn’t let you, taking you by the chin so he can kiss you again.

He’s so different now. You feel like you’re seeing a side of him you aren’t supposed to. Long white lashes, pretty blue eyes that are drenched in want and lust. His breathing was elevated. He was excited.

It scares you.

“I...I haven’t done this in a while.” You admit when you pull back. You give him a glance, before resigning yourself to pull away the rest of the dress and dropping it to the floor. “So...Please be nice?”

You sound like a child, unsure and nervous. You hate that you can’t keep the tremor out of your voice.

“Yes, yes.” He’s nodding, staring at you like a drooling dog. “I’ll be so so nice, baby. The nicest. Just lemme’ touch you. Please, please, pretty please?”

You give a tiny nod, and he’s pouncing on you.

He’s insatiable, you don’t think he’d ever get enough. He’s pawing at your bra before it comes off completely beneath his touch. Your panties are gone too, and then you’re entirely bare beneath him.

He doesn't forget about himself, neither do you. Between his ravenous kisses, you manage to take off his jacket. Satoru helps you with his shirt, pulling it off him, showing his toned abs and pale skin. Not a single mark or blemish. He’s absolute perfection.

He must notice your hesitant fingers at his shoulders because he stops sucking on your neck with a distinct pop, still playing with your tits, leaning over to whisper in your ear.

“Touch me,” he says, “I want you to touch me.”

You feel awkward pulling your fingers down to his chest, his stomach. His skin is soft, warm. Your hands are frigid. He shivers when you graze over his abs. His skin is so pale, almost translucent. If you were to pinch him, bite him, the color would show oh so nicely.

When you pull away, he whines, nearly falling over.

“Don’t fucking tease me like that.” The way he says it is so needy. You laugh, gaining the courage to play with his hair.

He gets the control back eventually, pushing you back down so he can devour you properly.

His face is between your legs before you can comprehend it. He’s spreading you open so he can see your pussy. You’re already creaming for him. Your pussy juice is spread across your lips, making your skin glisten and shine. It’d be embarrassing if he wasn’t worse, drooling like a fucking dog before his mouth meets your cunt in a frenzied kiss.

He gives this high-pitched moan that sends a thrill up your spine the more he makes out with your clit, licking and sucking.

“Oh.” You sink against the pillows. “Satoru—Satoru-!—”

“Fuck yes—” his voice is muffled but he doesn’t stop. “You taste so good, baby. like—like fuckin’ heaven—”

You almost double over when his teeth graze your clit. Your hand reaches out immediately to grab and his hair and pull.

It does nothing. He just whines, and when he digs deeper into your pussy, you realize he likes it when you hurt him.

You pull harder and his finger presses its way into your wet hole and just the right angle to make you see stars.

“Fuck baby, ‘can barely fit my fingers.” It would sound like a complaint if he didn’t sound so far gone already. “How are we gonna fit my cock into this pussy, hm?”

He talks too much. When you shove his face deeper into your folds, it seems to shut him up and he’s back to worshipping your dripping cunt.

He’s too good. It’s all so good. You’re squeezing his head between your thighs, sure you’re suffocating him but he doesn’t seem to care. The noise is downright scandalous but you’re too far gone to give a shit about that.

It felt so good to stop thinking.

“Close.” You gasp when you hit that plateau. “I’m close. I’m—”

“Gonna cum?” he asks from underneath you, and it only seems to spur him on. “Gonna cum for me, pretty girl. Cum baby. Just let go. I gotcha’ just please please please—”

It hits and you arch your back, letting your orgasm rush past your body. It fizzes up your spine, right to your tits before you sag back to Earth. Satoru is more that happy to work you through your high before your thighs fall apart against him and he’s detaching himself from your clit with one last part kiss.

Satoru kisses you, famished. You can barely kiss back, following his lips with your own. You can taste yourself on his tongue. It’s a tangy sweetness, warmed from his spit.

“Was I nice?” Satoru asks.

You nod. He smiles.

He pulls back, sitting on his knees. You watch as he fiddles with his boxers, before pulling out his pulsing cock.

It’s not all that thick, but it’s the length that makes you shift, just the tiniest bit. He’s on the larger end. His cock looks puffy and dripping in a way that almost looks painful. He pumps himself a few times, and then you’re reaching out.

Satoru stops, watching as you rise from your earlier position, hand on his cock. Your hand is so much smaller than his, you can barely wrap your fingers around his base. He shivers at the touch, and by the time you’re fisting his cock he faltars, head falling into the crook of your neck.

“Too much?” You ask when he gasps.

“No.” He shakes his head. “No no. Keep going. Please don’t stop.”

That same whine again. Helpless and needy. When you squeeze him, he jolts.

And then you stop. You’re sure he’s about to complain but then you’re lowering yourself, keeping your eyes on him, and you give his cock a tentative lick.

You hadn’t done this in a while, and you weren’t all that sure if you could swallow all of him, but you try your best. You swirl your tongue around his tip, watching as he twitches. His cock jumps in your mouth and you have to hold his base to keep him still for you. He’s so sensitive. Every touch you give him seems to just make him even needier.

He rocks his cock into your mouth. You let him, watching as he babbles on and on.

“So so fucking good, baby.” He’s moaning, head flung back, like it’d be too much to keep looking at you. “Right—right there. Fuck fuck fuck.”

He cums fast, and it’s sudden. He’s barely holding his breath before he’s shuddering and he’s filling your entire mouth. There’s so much of it, you can’t possibly swallow it all. You mouth off his cock with a pop, pumping him until he starts twitching out of overstimulation.

Satoru is panting, still basking in that afterglow as you kiss him. He doesn’t seem too embarrassed about how quick he lasted. Then again, you don’t think he has the brainpower to feel anything right now other than pure lust. Pussydrunk, your brain gives.

You reach up, wiping away the tears collected in the corner of his eyes. A part of you wants to leave it there. He looks good like this. Pretty as an angel.

And then you look down and you see his cock has not gone down at all.

“Oh,” you murmur, “I see you’re healthy.”

“Mmh,” he says back, not exactly words but you’re not looking for a conversation right now.

Your pussy is throbbing. She wants more attention. You’re settling back into your original position as you watch Satoru rifle through his forgotten pants. He pulls out a familiar wrapper. You have to roll your eyes at his preparedness.

“You’re a bit too ready for this.” You note.

“Can you blame me?” He honestly asks. “I’ve been waiting for this for months.”

The casual admission makes you glance away. He laughs at your sudden shyness and you have to wonder how you didn’t see him before.

“Ready, baby?” He asks. This feels familiar, somehow.

He gives his cock two cursory pumps, and then he’s pushing himself into you.

It’s so much all at once. As wet as you were, his cock bullies his way into you with a fierce stretch. It’s enough to make you squeeze your eyes shut. Grin and bear it.

“Shit, you’re so fucking tight.” He curses. “How the hell did you fit a baby through here?” You can’t bring yourself to respond to his usual snark, so you claw at his back, raking your nails through his skin. He hisses and the pain seems to distract him into temporarily shutting up.

By the time, he sits his dick in your pussy, you’re close to breaking. You were right, he was way too big. Bigger than the one person you’ve always been with, so you’re not sure if you have a good gauge on size. Still, your brain short-circuits, and your eyes roll to the back of your head. Mind-numb.

He’s impatient this time, not giving you a chance to adjust before he’s clumsily pulling back out only to ram himself back in. You lurch, grabbing his shoulders to stabilize yourself from his sudden pace.

“Satoru—!” You gasp. “It’s—!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He’s apologizing, but you’re not quite sure how much he actually means it. “I’ve—I’ve just waited so—ah—long and now you’re here and it’s so—”

If it’s even possible, he gets even faster, pushes his cock even deeper into your battered pussy. The squelching of your hole and his whines into your ear make it so much more erotic than it needs to be. You give into your desire, reaching over to sink your teeth into the soft flesh of his neck. The masochist in him purrs in delight.

You notice it first. That familiar soreness in your tits. When you glance down, your nipple is leaking that familiar milky fluid.

Satoru notices too. He stops, sinking his dick entirely into you. You’ve never felt fuller.

“Oh.” You feel heat creep up your neck. You hadn’t fed Reina today, this was bound to happen. “I—I’m sorry. I—I should’ve—”

You expect him to pull out of you awkwardly. Maybe even be disgusted.

Instead, he groans.

“I’m getting dessert now, too?”

“What?”

As your answer, he leans down and latches onto your tit.

He’s messy, smearing milk all over your skin and the other breast. After a while, he picks up his pace again, resuming his pussyfucking. You’re sure the angle must be painful, him bent over you like this, but he makes no complaint. And you could care less about his discomfort right about now.

He alternates between your breasts like he can’t decide which one tastes better. It shouldn’t feel this good, watching him suckle on your tits but you can feel yourself get even tighter. He can feel it, too.

Satoru’s rambling now. You can barely keep up with his incoherent mess.

“Fuck—fuck, you’re close, arentcha’?” he’s slurring his words, spitting them out one after another. “C’mon baby, you wanna cum? Cum, then? Milk my cock, pretty baby. Just like last time.” You should be paying more attention to his words. You don't.

Everything feels like deja vu. You should be paying attention to your own words too. You don’t.

“Mhn.” You moan. “Close. Sato, I’m close. Real real close—”

Your eyes widen. So does his.

You think you just ruined everything.

And then he starts jackhammering himself into you.

“Say it again.” He demands, driving his cock deep into your cunt.

You shake your head, despite your refusal you can’t help but— “Sato, oh God. Please Sato—Don’t—”

“Again, say it again.” His fingers descend to your clit, messily rubbing tiny circles. “Don’t stop saying my name until you’ve cum.”

You obey. Sato, Sato, Sato, Sa—and then you’re tipping over the edge. He fucks you through it, keeping you on that high until he’s shuddering too.

“Fuck baby, I missed you.” He’s whispering in your ear. “I missed you so much.”

You sigh when he kisses you, still coming down to Earth. The kiss his soft, just filled with want, instead of that carnal desire. He pulls away, and just when you’re debating to let him stay the night, he’s pulling out new rubber.

“Another one?” You ask, the dots not quite connecting yet.

“Oh, c’mon.” He grins down at you. “You didn’t think we’d go for just one round, did ya?”

You’re finally back in his arms.

Satoru dreamed of this day. He’s dreamt of this for months, ever since he had to leave you with that scumbag. Now that you’re sleeping peacefully in his arms again, everything is finally right in his world.

He shifts, wanting to bring you closer to his chest, but he winces. Fuck, you really did a number on him. He didn’t know you were into biting. And he can feel the pleasant sting of your nails on his back. He’d need to be careful with his RCT for a while. He wants these marks to last for as long as possible.

And when they fade, he’s sure he won’t have to convince you too much to make more for him.

“Give...them...back.”

Oh right. He’d almost forgotten about that other tiny problem he had.

He turns to the curse. “So, enjoy the show?”

Satoshi is unrecognizable. Malformed, demented. No more eyes, tall enough to reach the ceiling. To a being like Satoru, he was still nothing.

To a non-shaman and an infant, a grade 2 curse was quite the hassle. No wonder your so exhausted these days. Your husband was cursing you.

“Give them back.” The curse rasps. “Give them both back.”

Satoru’s silent, as if he’s really thinking about it.

“Nah, I’m good.” He grins. “This one’s mine now. And about Reina...what do you think suits me best: Dada or Daddy?”

The curse roars. It’s loud enough to shake the walls. Satoru tsks.

“Careful there. You might wake the missus.” He points out.

“Mine...” Satoshi insists. “They were....mine.”

“Were.” Satoru enunciates. “And now, they’re all mine! Sorry about the change in management. Don’t worry, though. I’ll take great care of both of ‘em.”

Always wanting to have the last word, Satoru reaches over and plucks your wedding ring off your limp finger.

“So, that’s where you got attached.” He muses at the metal. “Can’t believe you’re pathetic enough to curse your own wife. Is this 'cause you're still mad about the execution?" He asks, twirling the ring in his palm. "That happened months ago, man, get over it."

A snap of his fingers. Satoshi is gone. The room gets less stuffier. You relax in your sleep, and Satoru is caressing your arm, still studying the ring. It’s cheap. Plated gold with a less valuable metal as the base.

Pathetic. He tosses it carelessly.

A few months later, Satoru proposes with a proper engagement ring.

You say yes.

[skipper1331]

Secret // Alexia Putellas

| Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | extra |

Everybody knew that Alexia was a private person - she only shared the information she wanted to share as she was very selective in her choice of words and very careful about whom she told what.

And even though that facade dropped around her friends and family, she still kept you a secret - she preferred it that way - having you to herself and not having to deal with headlines like 'Alexia Putellas dating her Barcelona teammate.' and the drama that it could cause.

Whenever it was just the two of you she was the sweetest girl, treating you like a princess and being totally in love with you while when other people were around, she kept her distance, acted strictly professional and didn‘t show any signs of affection.

The only person who knew about you was her sister, Alba and she only found out by accident.

-

"mi amor, you‘re so beautiful" the midfielder admired, kissing along your jaw, "I can‘t get enough of you" she found her way down to your neck, completely lost in the feeling of you before a certain spot on your neck caught her attention where she gently created reddish marks.

Just because nobody knew about you, didn’t mean that it would stop Alexia from silently claiming you.

Her fingertips ran along your exposed skin as your shirt had riddled up, leaving the midfielder craving for more.

The Barcelona player continued to mumble sweet nothings, planting some last even sweeter kisses on your neck before she reached up to your lips, kissing them with every ounce of love. Alexia always kissed you like that, letting you know that you caused the butterflies in her stomach.

Tugging on your shirt, she signaled that she wanted it off. Happily obeying, you took it off, her hands now wandering around your bare upper body as she was back kissing you with so much passion and love.

"Ale- do you know what-" both of you froze at the same time, your girlfriend shielding your exposed body as her sister stood in the door frame, "oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!" she covered eyes, rushing out of the room and slamming the door shut.

"mierda!" Ale was off of you in an instant, throwing your shirt back to you.

"I‘m Alba!" the younger Putellas called threw the door, "we haven‘t meet yet. I‘m her sister!"

You chuckled - wrong move as Alexia glared at you, marching out of her bedroom.

"Do you ever knock?!" she said angrily, pulling her sister away, giving you the time you needed.

"I thought you were asleep! You didn‘t open the front door when I knocked" the sister defended herself in their mother tongue.

Alexia huffed, pinching the bridge of her nose, "so, who‘s she?" Alba asked.

Perfectly timed, you exited the bedroom, walking towards the sisters in the living room, "I’m Y/N" you smiled nicely, offering your hand.

"Alba" she introduced herself once again, returning your smile and shaking your hand.

"She‘s my girlfriend" the midfielder huffed, annoyed that her little sister caught you, "20€ if you don‘t tell anyone about it" the older one said.

She would pay money to keep you a secret? Don‘t get me wrong, you didn‘t want to be public as you loved the privacy both of you had as individuals and together but you did hope for that she would at least tell your friends and family. All you wanted was to hold her hand and not to worry about standing too close to her.

The sparkle in your eyes died down, feeling stings in your heart but nonetheless respecting Alexia‘s wishes.

"I don‘t need your money" Alba stated when she saw the way your face fell, "you could have just said please."

You felt more than rejected in that moment.

"You won‘t tell anybody about this" she ordered this time now, her jaw clenched and voice firm - captains order.

Alba walked towards the door, "I‘m going to the car, mamá is waiting. Hurry up" before she left, only Alexia and you left in her apartment.

"I‘m sorry amor, I forgot that we were having lunch together." the midfielder explained, not knowing nor realizing that her behavior had hurt you as she was just apologizing for the incident of Alba walking in.

"You can stay if you‘d like" she smiled, putting on her shoes.

After she had laced her last shoe, she pulled you in by your hips, kissing you good bye, getting a bit carried as the feeling of your lips locked was addicting.

-

You loved being Alexia‘s girlfriend but you didn‘t like being her secret.

To be honest, it didn‘t bother you at first but after 6 months, you started to think about at least telling your family (officially you hadn‘t even met Alba before) and friends but every time you proposed the idea of it, she got defensive and annoyed, so you didn‘t bring it up again.

After one year, you slowly started to think that maybe she was ashamed of being seen with you, just being with you or of you as her behavior got more and more secretive day by day - she didn‘t even act like your friend in training.

You didn‘t know where it was coming from because whenever you were behind closed doors, she was the most affectionate person who loved to cook for you or just sharing the same air made her heart and brain go love sick. She was indeed very much in love with you yet afraid to show this love outside of either of your apartments.

Sometimes you wished that she would take you out for dinner - it didn‘t have to be fancy at all, McDonalds would be simply enough - you just wanted to experience a date night.

And even though, she made home as romantic as possible, it wasn’t enough anymore. You craved for more.

Sometimes when you saw Ingrid and Mapi openly in love, you felt jealous. You wanted that too.

They were your friends and you were so happy for them as they matched each other perfectly but you couldn’t help but feel envy. You envied what they have, imagining how it would feel like with Alexia - hoping to have that with Alexia, one day.

-

"Do you want to go out tonight? Frido told me about this new restaurant!" you said smiling.

The midfielder looked up from her notebook, pausing the tv as she replayed Chelsea’s matches (the club Barcelona would face in the uwcl semi finals)

"Is it takeout?" she asked.

You shook your head - no. "We can go out" you tried again, flopping next to her on the couch.

"Amor!" she grumbled as all her notes fell to the ground, now not sorted anymore.

"Sorry"

"I‘m preparing for our upcoming matches, you should join me in fact, so you know how Chelsea will play. We can order takeout - you know I don‘t like going out with you" she sorted through her notes, grumbling and huffing at the non existing order. She hadn‘t realized that her words were harsh and in fact rude.

You got the message - she didn’t like going out(side) with you, she had made that very clear.

"I can get you some food from there tomorrow" she added, her voice gentle and the wrinkle between her brows gone as her notes were back in the correct order.

It didn‘t help though, you felt hurt. Was it that bad to be seen with you? You‘re a Barcelona player, her teammate - and friends get food together all the time, so why can‘t you get food together as friends? Nobody would suspect that the two of you were more than friends, right?

"Are you hungry? Do you want me to cook something for you, mi amor?"

Again, you shook your head, scrolling through your phone while you acted tough and unbothered by her comment as she didn‘t even notice how harsh her words had sounded before.

You sent a message in the group chat with Ingrid and Frido, asking if they wanted to try out the restaurant which the Swedish woman had discovered. Both of them agreed within seconds.

-

The two of you laid in bed, Alexia‘s arms wrapped around you as she whispered sweet nothings in your ear. It became a routine for Alexia to lull you to sleep while tracing patterns along your skin. She loved doing so and she loved watching you sleep - you looked at peace.

Something about tonight was different though. Normally, it wouldn’t take long for the captain to soothe you to sleep but after 30 minutes, you still were awake, mind seemingly not finding any rest.

"¿Qué pasa?" she whispered in the dark, gently pressing a kiss to the exposed skin on your shoulder.

"It‘s been over a year, Ale, when will you introduce me as your girlfriend? Or take me out on a date that isn’t in here?" your voice was almost inaudible. You knew it was a sensitive topic for Alexia, the girl always denying your requests on telling someone and shutting you out after the conversation and also avoiding you for the rest of the day. "Amor.. we‘ve talked about this" she said, pulling her hands off your body.

Coldness hit your body while the parts were her hands had rested burnt down.

You turned around, looking at her, the moonlight the only light source "all I’m asking is for some recognition." you admitted, almost pleading for her attention outside of either of your homes.

"But I see you. I see you in training and after training, why is it so important to you that people now? We won‘t have any privacy!" her voice raising slightly.

"Alexia… this has nothing to do with the media. I want to meet your family! Or go on a date and wear very nice clothes. Is that too much to ask for?"

"You‘re right. Lo siento, amor" her hands cupped your cheeks, resting her forehead against yours, "I‘ll try to be better"

-

Over the next few months, Alexia’s home started to become your least favourite place - you felt like you were trapped in a cage.

Nothing had changed.

She loved you behind closed doors while she couldn’t even look at you in training.

Each day that passed, more of your heart broke. Your motivation faded - football was your work and no longer a passion.

And Alexia could tell. Your passes were sloppy and your tackles were harsh.

As soon as you had arrived in her apartment, she began complaining about your attitude.

You were not having it.

You started yelling at each other, rude comments leaving both of your mouths,

"You promised me!" you shouted, all hidden anger and hurt discovering the surface, "you promised me and nothing has changed! I‘m your dirty little secret!" you spat.

"Alba knows about you, isn’t that enough?!"

"You offered her fucking money to keep her mouth shut!"

"What do you want?!"

"I can‘t do this anymore, Alexia. I don’t want to think about whether my girlfriend is ashamed of me or not."

"What are you talking about- amor?"

"I‘m worth more than that."

"Please- give me a chance"

"I did, Ale, more than once" you walked towards the front door, bending down to put on your shoes.

The captain followed, so overwhelmed by what was happening that her persona took some turns, "If you walk out that door, we‘re done!"

your hand was resting on the doorknob, ready to leave.

You looked at her, "Behind that door, we never existed anyway."

And with that being said, you left.

[eiralunaire]

Damian Wayne/Reader

Warning: pregnant Reader, soft...

It was a quiet afternoon in Gotham, and Damian and Reader had decided to go to the supermarket together to fill the fridge with the groceries Damian had meticulously planned out. His list was precise, detailed, and full of items that would ensure a balanced diet for his three-month pregnant wife. Fresh fruits, vegetables, proteins, and iron and calcium-rich products were all carefully noted to ensure Reader was well-nourished.

As they strolled through the aisles, Damian maintained his usual protective stance. He had a hand on the small of Reader’s back, gently guiding her, watching to make sure she didn’t make any sudden movements or overexert herself. Every time she stopped to look at something on the shelves, he watched her closely, making sure she wasn’t going to try to carry anything.

“Do you fancy anything in particular?” he asked her as he scanned the list.

“Raspberry ice cream,” she replied with a mischievous smile, almost as if she knew it wasn’t on the list.

Damian raised an eyebrow, but couldn't help but smile at her whim. He knew that during pregnancy, such small desires were inevitable, and although he preferred to strictly follow the list, he couldn't deny her something so simple either.

"Wait here. I'll go get it."

Damian headed to the frozen goods area with his firm, efficient step, quickly searching for the tub of ice cream his wife wanted. He found the raspberry one in a matter of seconds and, satisfied with his choice, turned to return to the aisle where he had left Reader.

But when he arrived, what he saw made him stop dead in his tracks. In front of him was an old woman, probably in her 70s or 80s, pushing Reader with contempt. The woman, with her wrinkled face and an expression of disdain, clearly didn't realize or care that Reader was pregnant. Damian watched as Reader slightly lost her balance under the push, and his heart stopped.

In an instant, the world seemed to stop. All of his training as a Robin activated in his mind, but this time it wasn't a villain or a criminal he had to face; it was the well-being of his wife and son that was at stake. In less than a second, Damian was beside Reader, his arm holding her firmly and securely before she could falter any further.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his green eyes filled with a concern he couldn't hide.

Reader, though a little surprised by the push, nodded, her breathing slightly accelerated. "I'm fine, Damian. It was just a push...

But for Damian, it wasn't "just a push." ​​His gaze hardened as he turned to the old woman. The control he always had over his emotions was crumbling.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he said in a cold voice, his tone low but filled with a dangerous authority. The old woman looked at him with contempt.

“Young people have no manners these days,” she replied dismissively, “if you’re pregnant, you should stay home instead of blocking the hallway.”

Damian set his jaw, his body visibly tensing. Despite his training to stay calm in tense situations, his patience was wearing thin. His entire being screamed to protect Reader, and the fact that someone had put her at risk, even minimally, was something he couldn’t tolerate.

“She has every right to be here,” he replied, his voice firm but icy. “And if you can’t respect that, then I suggest you step aside.”

The older woman looked at him in disbelief, and though she seemed to want to say something more, she decided not to confront the young man who was clearly in no mood to argue. She snorted before turning and walking away.

Damian turned back to Reader, his expression still worried. “You shouldn’t have been left alone,” he said, more to himself than to her. He knew it was unreasonable to be so overprotective, but the thought that something could have happened to her was eating away at him.

Reader gently took her hand, lacing her fingers through his. “Damian, I’m fine. It was just a grumpy old lady.”

He looked at her, a mix of guilt and frustration in his eyes. “It’s not just that. I don’t want anything to happen to you. Not to you or the baby.”

Reader smiled, understanding the fear he carried with him. “I know, but I’m okay. We’re okay. You can’t protect me from everything,” she said sweetly, caressing his cheek with her other hand.

Damian exhaled, trying to calm the internal storm that was brewing inside him. “Still, you won’t be left alone in a public place again,” he stated seriously.

She let out a small laugh, knowing that, although he could be overly protective at times, he did it out of love. “Okay, but the ice cream…”

Damian looked at the tub of ice cream he still held in his hand, and finally, a slight smile appeared on his lips. “Here’s your treat,” he said, handing it to her.

Despite what had happened, the love between them was still palpable, and although Damian would always be protective, Reader knew that love was what made him the man she loved.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Another one from pregnant Reader because i like the previous one.

[yandereunsolved]

✐ᝰ Yandere Clark Kent 'Superman' ᝰ.ᐟ

Alien, farmer, reporter, superhero, and Justice League member are all titles Clark has collected over the years. They stretch from the most mundane to the ones that are given the highest respect. All of these titles pale in comparison to the one he yearns for the most: to be your husband. Every one of his positive traits seemed to disintegrate when it came to you, his accomplishments and status along with them. He was simply Clark to you, not Superman or Kal-El.

He was nothing but a love-sick maniac at your feet. His obsession threatens to break the moral code he is so devoted to. He understands that his attraction to you is something unhealthy and taboo. He is a beacon of light in the darkness of the world. Yet he'd be willing to blind the entire world with light just to be acknowledged by you. He'd cut out his own heart and present it in a gift box with a red bow if it'd please you.

You—just a human reporter who works at the Daily Planet. You who lives in a small studio apartment. You who has aspirations of doing something greater than just writing opinion pieces. You who has captured the noble hero's heart. 

You, you, you, you, you, you, you.

He can't get enough.

He doesn't get enough of you. You seem to actively avoid him. You interact with Lois so cordially; you two are close friends. He works with Lois. Why are you giving him the cold shoulder?

He knows everything about you. He knows your favorite restaurant, where you go to de-stress, your schedule, your hobbies, and your fantasies. He's spent so much time learning about you. You've learned nothing about him except for the fact that he's your dorky, sweet co-worker.

"Are you staring at them again? How long have you been staring at them? Why do you keep staring at them? Do you have a crush on them!?" Lois interrogates him with that same curiosity kindling in the back of her violet eyes.

He could demolish buildings in an instant, but he couldn't control his pale complexion from being invaded by a red hue. He had to think for a moment. His words had become lost in his mind, like they had been dispersed among the cosmos. He stuttered at first. It felt so out of character for him. He always, well, almost always, knew what to say. 

He had to be careful around her. He's lucky that he has been clever enough to keep his obsessive tendencies under wraps until Lois leaves his side.

"I just want to know why they refuse to talk to me." His words were laced with truth. Still, he was dodging her questions, as always.

Lois huffs in irritation, like he just said the most asinine thing one could ever utter.

"They obviously like you. They just think you're way out of their league."

"What?" He deadpans.

"I never give you the inside scoop about your darling little crush, but this one time I may." She teases him. "Clark, they like you. The googly eyes you two make at each other are such an obvious indication that you both are totally whipped for each other."

"You're serious?" His pupils dilate to such an extensive degree that you would have thought he was getting them checked by an optometrist. A lump forms in this throat, twice the size of his Adam's apple. "They like me?"

"They more than like you. They are interested in you, and you should totally ask them out on a date. I have to help a friend out, y'know? You two would make such a cute couple." Lois's pitch in her voice had become so much higher; even with her evident giddiness, there was an undertone of sulleness.

"Hey!" Lois calls you over. She waves her arm around and points towards Clark.

You scurry over in your flattering work outfit. It wouldn't be appropriate for him to eye you like a forbidden sweet. Still, he could feel his clothes grow tighter and his palms become sweaty. You couldn't even look him in the eyes. He wanted to gently tilt your chin up so your eyes would meet his. He'd eat a lump of kryptonite just for you to glance at him with that love-lorn expression. If only you knew, he could show; no, he has to show—

"You and him are going to go undercover in a local cafe a few blocks from here." He's snapped from his never-ending supply of thoughts about you. "It's supposedly a cover for a notorious drug cartel. Your cover story will be that you're a young couple going out on a date."  

You glance at Lois and eagerly nod. His words don't register your reply, but from Lois's grin, you obviously said something along the lines of yes. You walk off once again, your eyes sweeping across the aged carpet covering the office floor. Once out of hearing distance, Lois turns back to him.

"You're welcome. You owe me one." Lois nudges him in the side.

He could die a happy man now.

[hard-core-super-star]

sudden desire [K.Bishop + Y.Belova]

pairing: dom!yelena belova x sub!reader x switch!kate bishop

summary: after yelena dissapears on an unknown mission for a month, kate decides to take things into her own hands and encourage her to come home. things don't go exactly as planned for her on the blonde's return.

warnings: SMUT, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! -> dom/sub dynamics; implied pet play {collars, yelena using 'pet' and 'kotenok'}; orgasm denial; bondage; fingering; oral; sex toys; a dash of overstimulation; praise + degredation; kate's a brat and proud of it; yelena's mean but a secret softie; a SEVERE lack of proof-reading!

wordcount: 4.8k

a/n: SURPRISE! kinktober may be over but i got too attached to this idea and had to finish it. i have so many thoughts and feelings about this fic but i will save them and let you guys read it and form your own opinions about this dynamic. personally, i am OBSESSED with them and i would love to expand this little universe a little more. despite this being mostly shameless smut, there are quite a few feelings involved, especially regarding yelena and how being in this dynamic helps her unwind in a way without things being strictly sexual. so yeah, there's a lot but i really hope you enjoy <3

* * * * * * *

It doesn't take a genius to figure out Yelena has been acting off for the past few weeks.

It isn't unusual for her to be a little distant. Still a little rough around the edges, thanks to the unbelievable amounts of trauma she keeps hidden inside herself. Things are different this time, though.

It's been days since she's shown up at the apartment, even longer since she's returned one of your calls. She never goes more than a few days without letting you know where she is, that she's okay and simply busy on whatever mission has taken her attention this time.

Kate tells you not to worry, that the Russian is probably just caught up in whatever mess she's discovered. You know better than that.

Unfortunately for the archer, you learned what the constant furrowing of her eyebrows means a long time ago.

Unfortunately for you, she's far too good at distracting you, always knowing exactly what to do, exactly what to say to steal all your thoughts away.

She can't fully erase your worry, though. Not that she'd even try, considering she feels the same way. Underneath all her stupid jokes, there's an edge of uncertainty she can't quite hide. It weighs her down more than anything else.

You both know Yelena could disappear in an instant if she wanted to. She could throw it all to the wind and never be heard from again if she so pleased.

She'd promised she wouldn't do it, though. Reassured you and Kate that after spending so long without a stable place to call home, she wanted to stay with you two. She wanted to be with you two.

It had taken very little to convince Kate to agree. Despite their rocky beginning, the chemistry they shared was obvious to even the most oblivious. Instead of being jealous about it like you maybe should have, you were intrigued and maybe more than a little attracted to it.

To them and the borderline overwhelming confidence they seem to exude together.

You've never been one for liking simple things, though, and the challenge of keeping them from going at each other's throats acts like an aphrodisiac most nights.

For all their bickering, they're surprisingly easy to manage. Except when it comes to the intricate play sessions Yelena enjoys setting up.

The details of what your relationship had turned into were mostly lost on you. All you knew was that whatever the Russian says goes...and Kate was bound to get punished for not doing as she was told.

As much as Yelena loves to complain about it, you all know she secretly loves it. Loves the thrill that comes with being in charge. That safe rush that takes over her mind and allows her to act without thinking. To command respect in a way she'd never experienced before.

It was a change of pace from what you were used to with Kate, that was for sure. Despite the uncharted territory, you'd gotten used to it far faster than you would have ever imagined. They both made it easy and there was something about the submission Yelena expected from you that made your heart race.

You'd never experienced anything like it before, but you couldn't deny how much you liked it. How much you craved it when she was gone.

Kate does what she can to make the time without the blonde more bearable. You're thankful for her, for the way she knows what you need without even having to ask, but it's not the same. A part of you feels guilty about it. Like there's something wrong with you for wanting to have both of your girlfriends with you.

The archer doesn't seem to mind, though. You know she feels the exact same way you do. As incredible as being with each other is, Yelena brings something different to your relationship. Something extra that you both thrive off of.

Maybe that's what makes Kate employ such...interesting persuasion tactics.

Once the days turn into weeks which turn into a month, the archer's patience wears thin. Just because you both know Yelena's silence must be due to a dangerous mission doesn't mean you're okay with the lack of communication.

Your impatience starts blending with Kate's and before you know it, you're caught in the middle of one of her "incredible" plans.

"Come on, babe," she says, her lips pulling into that all-familiar smirk. "Maybe all Yelena needs is a good incentive. Don't you want her to see what a good girl you're being for me?"

Her words do a good job convincing you, but they're not enough. You know all too well how cruel the Russian can be when she feels she's been disrespected. And the archer playing with you without permission is definitely off-limits.

It's hard to deny Kate when she's looking at you like that, though. With those sparkling eyes and that suggestive smirk.

"I don't know, Katie, it feels like a bad idea," you reply, ignoring the way she keeps leaning closer and closer to you.

"Maybe but bad ideas are the most fun, aren't they?"

You can't exactly argue with that, considering the many stupid things you've done together that have led to incredible pleasure. Although, truth be told, the archer is usually the one who has to bear the burden of whatever punishment comes after. You wish you could say you feel bad about that but...she is the one who comes up with most ideas.

You're in the middle of trying to form a response when Kate leans in to capture your lips in a heated kiss. It's impossible to stop yourself from kissing her back, your hands moving up to tangle in her messy hair.

You pull her closer to you until she's straddling your lap, practically trapping you between her and the couch. You'd love to complain, but she feels far too good against you for you to even try.

Her kisses make your mind spin until nothing remains except her. She knows this, of course, because she knows you so damn well.

When she pulls away, she's breathless yet somehow still smiling like you put the stars in the sky. "I think you're coming around to my idea."

She's not wrong but the smugness in her tone pisses you off a little. "I still think it's stupid."

"I never said it wasn't." Kate rolls her hips, tantalizingly grinding down against you. "But I promise you'll have a good time."

You groan as your head leans back against the couch with a soft thump. "You're gonna get us in so much trouble."

"Yelena loves her little troublemakers, though."

"Oh my God, please stop talking."

"Not until you agree." Her lips find their way onto your jaw, pressing soft kisses and teasing bites to your skin. "...please."

It's a low blow and he knows it, but it's impossible to deny the archer when she asks for things so nicely. "Ugh, fine, just don't tie the ropes so tight this time."

Kate agrees and before you know it, you're naked and tied up with the purple rope the archer loves to use on you. To top everything off, she wrapped her collar around your neck, something that was bound to get a reaction out of the Russian.

You and Kate were her pets and while she allowed the archer to stake some claims of dominance over you, this one was off-limits. Not that Kate cared much. She was usually a lot better at doing things behind the blonde's back, though.

What Yelena didn't know didn't hurt her, but now, she was about to be dragged into something she wasn't going to be very happy to see.

Sending her pictures of the evidence is one thing, but Kate wants more. She always does.

So, she brings out more toys, stuffing your cunt with a thick dildo and pressing a relentless vibrator to your puffy clit. The pleasure is more than enough to drown out your thoughts and objections which means you barely flinch when Kate takes her phone out again. She records the way you squirm for her, the way you moan her name like a prayer, and then, to top it all off, she sends the videos to a very pissed off Russian.

It takes a while for the consequences of the archer's actions to catch up to you.

Since Yelena's obviously busy, it takes her a few days to come back. You're not home when she arrives, having gone out to run a quick errand, but Kate is. 

Which means you're met with quite the situation on your return.

The second you close the apartment door behind you, you're slammed against it, a gentle yet firm hand wrapping itself around your throat. You freak out for about a second until your senses catch up to reality and the smoky scent of Yelena's cologne hits your nose.

Almost instantly, you relax into her hold and meet her dark green eyes. There are so many words on the tip of your tongue, but you can tell she's not in the mood for it. Her mind is completely set on the scene she already started without you.

"Hi, detka. Did you miss me?"

You do your best to nod despite how difficult her grip on your throat makes it.

"Yes? Well, that is not what Kate Bishop told me a few days ago. She said you were being a naughty slut for her."

Her words make your heart drop into your stomach. You knew Kate's plan was stupid, but you didn't think she would throw you under the bus like that. What a cheeky little traitor.

"Do not worry, kotenok, Kate and I already worked things out. Would you like to see?"

Without waiting for a response, she moves her hand from your throat to your hand, gently tugging on it to lead you toward the living room. You go with her and your eyes are instantly drawn to Kate's figure on the couch, tied up in a pattern strikingly similar to the one she'd used on you mere days ago.

The biggest difference, though, is the large, purple dildo stuffed inside her cunt. Just from looking at her, you know exactly what her punishment is going to be for stepping out of line the way she did. You have to admit, though, she looks incredible like this. Gagged and wearing her purple collar with the leash attached.

"What do you think?" Yelena asks, her tone giving away how proud she is of herself.

"She looks good," you reply, earning yourself a smile from the Russian and a muffled whine from the archer.

As much as you sympathize with Kate, you can't say you didn't warn her.

A soft squeeze to your hand makes you turn to look at Yelena again. There's a familiar softness in her features as she looks at you, almost as if she's trying to read you, trying to figure out if you're on the same page as her. You know where that insecurity comes from and you're more than ready to wipe any and all doubts from her mind.

It's easier said than done, though, and the first step is always the hardest.

Thankfully, Yelena takes it for you.

"Kneel."

It's a single word, barely a command, but the storms hidden in her green eyes don't lie. She needs this just as much as you need her.

So, even though you crave comfort more than submission right now, you do exactly what she says. You drop down onto your knees in the middle of the living room, doing your best to ignore the way Kate squirms on the couch.

Yelena steps forward, her hand reaching out to caress your face. "You look so good like this, malishka. You understand pets should be seen and not heard, right? Or do I need to teach you a lesson too?"

You shake your head, not feeling particularly enthused about receiving a punishment already. Then again, you're sure if the blonde really wanted to, she'd do it anyway, regardless of your good behavior.

"Good."

It's not entirely praise, but her voice carries a twinge of affection that makes Kate whine. You don't know what happened between them, what exactly the archer did to piss off the blonde so much, but you know she's paying for it now. Which means, in some weird way, you're paying for it too.

Yelena admires you for a long moment, silently watching your reactions, watching the way you submit deeper and deeper with eveyr second that goes by. She loves Kate, she really does, but there's something about the ease with which she can control you that does things to her that she can't explain.

It's not about the pleasure. At least, not fully.

It's not even about the power she holds over you right now.

It's about the control. About being able to not worry and know you'll do exactly what she wants.

She doesn't have to guess or think too hard. 

You're both on opposite ends of the same spectrum. You both need each other to stop the fears and the worries. To quiet your thoughts until nothing remains but each other...and the whiny, puppy-like switch squirming on the couch.

It's strange, but it works. You all work. And it's absolutely terrifying because none of you have ever experienced anything like this before. You've never wanted anything the way you want each other.

"What do you want from me tonight, detka?" The blonde asks, her voice still soft despite the hardness on her face. "I will give you anything you desire."

Her words carry far more weight than you want to think about right now. You want to simply focus on the scene. On the role you have to play here.

It's hard, though, when Yelena's looking at you with an adoration that rivals Kate's. It's not like the Russian doesn't love you. You know she does. She just shows it in ways that aren't super compatible with you.

Right now, though...right now, it's working for you far more than it should be. All you can think about is how much you missed her, how badly you want to be under her control once more.

You're not sure how to articulate what you're looking for. All you can do is hope the blonde can make sense of the messy thoughts in your head.

"I just want you," you reply, your words a touch too vulnerable for your liking. "Want you to take control. To touch me until I can't take it anymore."

After spending the past few weeks taking orders from rich people who pay well but don't understand what it takes to kill a person, your request sounds like music to her ears. It's almost laughable how easy it'll be to fufill your desires, to give you exactly what you want until you can't think about anything else but her.

"I can work with that," she says, the corners of her mouth curling up into a wicked smirk. "As long as you are okay without Kate Bishop?"

The question catches you a little off-guard. Not because you're particuarly in need of the stubborn archer, but because she is. Yelena's a good domme, no one can deny that, and yet she hesitates to use you without Kate breathing down her neck.

She must be really pissed off if she wants to keep her off to the side and away from the action.

"Yeah, I'm okay with that." Your words are true, but you can't deny your curiosity so you push a little more. "Is she only allowed to watch?"

"Until I decide she has learned her lesson."

 Yelena's response makes Kate cry out again. All the blonde has to do is look up and glare to get her to quiet down. It's scary how angry she seems to be...and also really, really hot.

Especially when she looks back down at you and her eyes soften. "Present yourself for me, kotenok. Remind me what I have been missing."

You don't waste any time in scrambling into position. Kate's eyes seem to burn through you while you get onto your hands and knees in front of Yelena, pushing your ass back just a little. 

Despite the clothes you're still wearing, you feel incredibly exposed.

That feeling only intensifies as the blonde walks around you, circling you slowly and taking in every inch of your body. You're not sure where to look, stuck between wanting to duck your head in a show of submission and keeping your eyes on Kate, watching the frustration that blooms across her beautiful features.

Thankfully, Yelena doesn't like keeping you guessing. She enjoys clear commands, leaving none of you with doubts about what she's looking for. "Keep your eyes on her, datka. You too, Kate Bishop."

You let out a hum in response while the archer in front of you huffs and squirms around in her restraints. You have to admit...the sight is incredible.

The Russian settles behind you, a callused hand reaching out to caress down your spine. It takes you a second longer to realize you feel more than just her hand. However, as soon as the thought hits you, she steals them all away with a precise slice of her trusty combat knife.

It shouldn't be surprising, and yet you still gasp, your back arching while she cuts away your clothes. "Do not worry, detka, Kate Bishop will you buy a new outfit. Isn't that right, pet?"

Kate all but glares at you. You know it's not about you. Whatever issues they're having are unfortunatly being worked out through you, but you're not the problem. Hell, maybe there isn't even a problem. Maybe they're just having fun pushing back against each other because they can.

You honestly don't know. But the uncertainty makes everything all the more pleasurable. At least for you. You're not sure the archer can say the same thing.

Yelena makes quick work of your clothes, allowing them to drop to the ground and reveal your dripping cunt. You can't see her smirk, but you feel it in the way her fingers skim over your skin. Light enough to tease but hard enough to remind you not to move. To stay nice and still while she has her fun.

"Look at you. So desperate already. You truly amaze me, kotenok. Always so ready for me to use your pretty holes."

Your walls clench around pure air, making the smirk on the blonde's face grow wider. She can't stop herself from sinking onto her knees behind you and reaching out to touch you.

Two fingers tease and prod at your entrance while she watches you shake and shudder under her touch. She spreads your lips apart just to watch the way your cunt flutters around nothing. A part of her wants to draw this out, you're sure of it, but she's missed you just as much as you've missed her. (Maybe more, but she'd never admit that out loud. Especially not with Kate around)

"You are so good for me, so perfect. All for me to use."

You open your mouth to reply, more out of instinct than a need to say something, but all that comes out is borderline pathetic moan as the blonde works her fingers into your pussy. 

She sets a slow pace, almost as if she's taking her time exploring you. The slow speed does little to soothe the fire burning low in your belly but it does help ease your desperation. Not by much, of course, and you're sure the blonde knows that.

Almost as if on cue, Yelena's other hand joins the fun, thumb drawing circles on your sensitive clit. The action catches you off-guard and you barely manage to balance yourself instead of falling face-first onto the ground below you.

Your reaction makes her laugh, but what really entertains her is the struggle Kate is visibly going through. 

The archer has always thrived off your pleasure. Always gotten off on your desperate sounds, on the way you lose control over your body, on the palpable desperation that stretches itself over your features. Today is no different. Except for the fact she can't get off.

Sure, her cunt is stuffed full and the dildo keeps rubbing up against her in the best way whenever she squirms around too much, but it's not nearly enough. Her clit throbs painfully, swollen and in desperate need of attention. She won't be getting anything right now, though. Not until Yelena decides she's learned her lesson...or until Kate manages to make herself cum.

"Look at her, malyshka. And here I thought you were the needy one."

You do look at Kate, more out of habit than anything else. She's a vision. Flushed, desperate, and so squirmy it's a miracle she hasn't fallen off the couch.

The sight of her makes you clench around Yelena's fingers, greedily trying to pull them in deeeper. Neither of you are surprised, but it does make the blonde a little more competitive than usual.

She suddenly increases her speed, curling her fingers just enough to have you pushing back against her in search of more. "Such a greedy little pet. You are lucky I like seeing you like this. Although..."

Her words trail off and you instantly know she's coming up with something new. Some other way of making you submit to her, of playing with both of you until Kate stops trying to be a smartass. You doubt that'll happen, but you know Yelena will try anyway.

Whatever the Russian comes up with, she doesn't say anything more, instead going right back to fucking into your cunt. She works a third finger into your walls, stretching you on the digits while she mercilessly rubs your clit.

You can feel it building. The pleasure reaching and reaching toward a fever pitch that will leave you fuzzy-headed and thoughtless. It's so close. You open your mouth, obediently getting ready to ask for permission like a good pet, when suddenly...she removes her fingers from you.

You try your hardest to hold on to some semblance of composure, but you can't. Not when you were so close and full and feeling so good.

A whine makes its way out of your throat and you promptly earn yourself a hard smack to your ass.

"Do not be a brat. You do not want to join Kate Bishop, correct?"

Your response is instantaneous. "No. I'm sorry."

"I know you are, kotenok. But I still need you to behave, okay?"

You nod and Yelena smiles at your quick change of mood. She doesn't say anything else, merely motions for you to crawl forward, toward Kate and the mess between her legs.

Your body moves before you can even comprehend what you're doing. You crawl toward the archer, coming to a stop right between her spread legs, courtesy of Yelena shifting her around until she was sitting up. You tilt your head back to look up at the blonde, waiting slightly impatiently for her command.

You have a feeling you already know what it's going to be.

Yelena takes her time, though. Pretending to be busy adjusting Kate's posture and spreading her thighs for you to see the mess she's made of herself.

Once she's satisfied, and your nose is full of the scent of the archer's arousal, she finally tells you to move. "You know what to do, detka. Make the brat scream your name."

If Kate has any objections, they're swallowed up by her moans once your tongue finds its way onto her clit. It practically pulses beneath you and you waste no time wrapping your lips around the bud and sucking. Hard.

The archer tries to squirm away from you, caught somewhere between her sensitivity and her desperate need for an orgasm. Yelena holds her steady while she keeps her eyes on you. She doesn't really need to, she already knows you know what to do.

You technically don't have permission to touch so you put all your focus into making Kate fall apart with just your mouth. The frantic bucking of her hips tells you all you need to know about how she's feeling. You've never been so jealous of a dildo before, wishing it was your fingers she was clenching around instead.

The archer doesn't seem to mind, though, head thrown back against Yelena, muffled whines leaving her gagged mouth. Whatever the blonde is saying to her is a mere whisper, a secret between them, perfectly crafted to make her fall apart.

You double your efforts, sucking her clit and dragging your tongue along the surface. Your eyes are glued to her face, to the pleasure that spreads along every inch of it, to the rapid heaving of her chest as she tries to keep herself under control. It's useless, though. You all know she's on the edge of losing her composure. Of letting her usual brattiness fade away until all that remains is Yelena's power over her.

Kate's shaking increases in intensity, giving away just how close she is to falling apart. She can't exactly ask for permission due to being gagged but then again, she doesn't need to. Yelena already knows. She always knows.

"Come on, Kate Bishop. Do not tell me you forgot the rules already. I was hoping I would be able to reward you for doing such a good job."

The archer bucks into your mouth, making you moan against her. The vibrations do little to soothe the burning in her core and it takes all her willpower to not fall apart right then and there.

All she can do, though, is let out a string of incoherent mumbles, tinged with a whiny edge that makes Yelena smirk. Those sounds are nowhere near the words she's meant to be saying, the desperate begging the blonde loves hearing from her.

"It sounds like someone does not want the reward I'm offering. What a shame..." She trails off purposely, doing it just to mess with the archer's head.

Kate bites. Of course, she does. As much as she loves to pretend, and as stubborn as she can be most days, she loves this. Loves the rush that comes with the blonde's power over her. There's pleasure in the pushback, but it's when she lets go that she truly feels the weight of it.

You don't slow down for a second. You know it makes things much harder for your girlfriend, but you can't really help it. You're intoxicated by the smell of her, by the taste of her never-ending arousal.

She continues to let out strings of mumbles and whines, each sound growing more desperate than the last. Her thighs shake uncontrollably, giving away just how much she's struggling to hold her orgasm off.

As mean as Yelena can be sometimes, she's not cruel. She only drags the moment out for a few extra seconds before her hand curls into Kate's hair, dragging her head back to expose her delicate throat. "I know, I know. Go ahead, cum for me, darling. You did good."

It's unclear which part of the Russian's words gets to the archer, but it doesn't matter, the effect is the same.

Her whole body stills for a second, a strangled cry getting caught in her throat as she comes undone.

You moan with her which helps drag out the pleasure crashing into her like waves. You work overtime to lap up her release, drinking in her essence and soothing her overwhelming sensitivity as best as you can. It doesn't seem to work considering how violent her shaking becomes, but you don't have any complaints.

Yelena's hand somehow finds its way onto your hair next and she pulls you off the whining archer. "Such a good pet for me. Good girl, kotenok. Will you help me with Kate? She is...a little out of it."

You know what she means. Mainly because you can see it but also because of the way the blonde drops off Kate's last name. You're not fully sure why she has such a fascination with using your girlfriend's full name all the time. All you know is her habit instantly dissapears when the archer's submissive side comes out.

It's not too surprising, though, considering how badly Kate craves comfort and connection in those moments.

A part of you wants to complain since you still haven't gotten your orgasm, but you know better.

You stand up on shaky legs and help Yelena untie the brunette. Leaving the collar on is a no-brainer and even though her whines are pitiful, you slide the dildo out of her.

You pepper kisses across her skin the entire time, instantly recognizing how glossy her eyes are, how far away her mind seems to be. She's as beautiful as ever, in your opinion.

In no time, the three of you are snuggled up in bed. Kate's still really floaty, you're on the edge of going totally fuzzy, and Yelena is happier than she's been in weeks. 

Maybe it's weird but you really don't fucking care. Not when Kate's head is resting in your lap and you're completely relaxed lounging in between Yelena's legs.

[heli-writes]

A dragon's heart, part 10.

Pairing: Barbarian!Bakugou Katsuki x female!reader

Summary: The dragonblood tribe is known for being cruel, barbarian warriors that slaughter, loot and rape all places they pass through. They are feared among the villagers and even bigger cities. Having lost most of their women to a plague, they're trying to ensure their tribe's survival by kidnapping women from other places. However, they're not the only monsters in human form out there. When y/n experiences this first hand, she has no choice but to ask for help from no other but the barbarian leader Katsuki Bakugou himself.

Disclaimer: mentions of injuries, mentions of forceful behaviour towards women, bad family dynamics

[Please don't read if you are sensible to or triggered by the topics mentioned above.]

Note: Sorry, folks! No smut yet, I need some more time to build up the right moment!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11

Series Masterlist

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It's silly to cry about this, isn't it? No, yeah, it's definitely not silly.

Y/n rubs her eyes. She's standing lost in the abandoned tent in the middle of the pieces of Katsuki's tantrum. Slowly, she starts picking up the things Katsuki has thrown across the room.

It will be alright. You can trust Katsuki. Whatever happened today, it's not your fault and Katsuki knows that. He might get irritated easily but he's not unreasonable.

When y/n is done picking up the pieces of the destroyed chair, she's unsure what to do next. She decides to scrub off the paint in the stone hut. There's only cold water this time but y/n grinds her teeth and scrubs it all off. Afterward, she feels a little bit like herself again.

Back in the tent, she loses the clothes as well. She looks for her dress but she can't find it. This upsets her more than it should. After all, it's just a piece of fabric, she tells herself. Then again, it was her mother's dress. The last thing that connected her with her people.

My bag!, she thinks and looks for it where she dropped it the night before. She finds it next to the bed. She dumps the contents on the bed and looks at the things she's brought along. She takes the small knife and strokes over the carvings in the wooden handle. Her father made it for her for her twelfth birthday. He wanted to paint it one day, but he passed before he ever got the chance.

She remembers her father. He was a kind but firm man. He believed in the way of their people. Y/n remembers how he used to take her and her brother to a meadow in the middle of a summer night. He showed the kids how the fireflies light up when you run through the grass. He dared them to catch one and when they did, he explained to them how every creature was created by the great being of things and therefore should be treated with respect. He made y/n let go of the fireflight she caught and they watched as it disappeared into the night sky.

Y/n clutches the knife. She didn't notice how tears slipped down her cheeks. Quickly, she brushes them away. She shakes her head. Thinking about this, won't change the present. Carefully, she places the things back into her bag and hides it beneath the bed, so that they won't be taken away again like her dress.

She slips out of the skimpy clothes she was put into this morning and puts on the clothes Katsuki gave her yesterday. Also, she wraps a blanket around her since she's planning to go outside. I'm going to look for Katsuki, she determines.

~*~*~*~*~

It's strange walking around the village without Katsuki by her side. Y/n feels a lot more vulnerable without him. Again, there are only men outside the tents and they give her strange looks. She's sure they are talking about her, too.

She tries to shake the thought off when she slips in between two tents to get out of sight. Suddenly, a cold hand grabs her arm.

„A-are you new? When did they bring you in?“, a scared female voice says next to her.

Y/n feels instant relief. Finally, someone who understands her! And a woman too! She turns around to the voice and is instantly stunned.

There's a woman standing at the entrance of a tent. She's about y/n's height. The woman is pale as if she barely sees the sunlight. She looks sickish in a haggard way. Her state is nothing but alarming to y/n.

„Yes, I am. I just arrived yesterday. Are-“, y/n tells her and before y/n can ask her if she's alright, the woman's grip on her arm tightens.

„Did he do it already? The man that took you? Is he near? Is he looking for you?“, the woman asks frantically. There is fear in her eyes.

„Uhm, what do you mean?“, y/n replies uncertainly.

„You need to get away!“, the woman tells her, now grabbing both of y/n's arms. „If he hasn't taken you, you might still have a chance!“

The woman's eyes are ripped open widely and y/n can see how bloodshot they are. She mustn't have slept for days. Y/n tries to wiggle out of the woman's hold.

„I-i'm fine. Thanks for your concern, but-“, y/n tries to shake her off.

„Nadia!“, a voice barks from the side y/n came from. A big, bulky man walks their way. His face looks angry. He continues to speak loudly in his language. The woman winces and lets go of y/n. She quickly retreats back into the tent, leaving y/n alone outside.

The man gives y/n a glance before disappearing into the tent. His loud voice can be heard in the inside. By the tone of his voice, he must be scolding the woman. Y/n isn't sure if that's her cue to disappear like the woman said.

Eventually, the man comes back outside. He doesn't look as angry as before anymore. He says something to y/n that she doesn't understand.

„U-uhm, I'm a friend of Katsuki, I guess. Do you know where he is?“, she asks him and the man looks annoyed. He throws his arms into the air in frustration and rambles something to himself.

Y/n straightens her posture a bit at tells him in a determined voice: „Katsuki“.

The man gives her an uncertain look. Then he grabs her shoulder and makes a gesture to follow him. Y/n does so. The man drags her through half of the village, stopping here and there to talk to people. Y/n can hear the word „Katsuki“ quite often, so she guesses he is asking around where Katsuki is. Eventually, the man makes her walk quite a while outside of the settlement and y/n starts doubting her decision to follow him. What if the woman was right? What if that guy really has something bad on his mind?

The man leads her into a small gorge. Y/n can see how smoke rises from the inside, so she guesses humans must be there as well.

Turns out her guess was kind of wrong. The deeper they get into the gorge, the more clearly it becomes what lives her: dragons. When the first comes into sight, y/n walks a bit closer to the man in front of her. More and more dragons come into sight. Golden ones, blue ones, green ones. Y/n thinks the deep black ones look the scariest. She tries to avoid eye contact with all of them. Also, she wonders if Katsuki's great red one is here. Actually, she'd be really relieved to see the great red one again right now. At least one familiar face, or snout, around here.

The man leads her all the way in, where a small fire is lit. More men sit around it drinking and laughing.

The men cheer and gesture for the man to join him but he declines with a wave of his hand. He says something to them and y/n hears Katsuki's name again. She peeks behind the man and sees Katsuki sitting among the men around the fire. When Katsuki spots her, he immediately gets up.

Katsuki exchanges a few words with the man before said man turns around to leave. Katsuki grabs her shoulder and gives her an angry look. Seems as if he's not too happy that I'm here, y/n thinks.

The men laugh and say something to Katsuki to which he gives them a snarky reply. Katsuki leads her to the fire and motions for her to sit down. Y/n does so and wraps the blanket around her a little bit more tight. The man called Kirishima asks Katsuki something and points at y/n. Katsuki shrugs indifferently.

Kirishima fills a mug with something that's been brewing over the fire and hands the mug to y/n. Y/n takes a sniff. It's definitely alcohool. She takes a sip and is pleasantly surprised.

„Mead!“ she exclaims. The men cheer and raise their cups to her. Y/n does so too and takes another sip. The mead is sweet and rich in her mouth.

Kirishima laughs and says something to her. Y/n smiles. Somehow, this feels comfortable. Like when her people sat around the fire at night drinking some hot mead to keep warm. It's the time when stories and memories are shared. Y/n decides there's no harm in sharing a memory of her own, even if these strange men won't understand her.

„You know“, she tells Kirishima, „My aunt used to make mead together with my father“. Kirishima takes another sip from his cup while listening.

„Of course, you need honey for that.“, y/n continues, „So my aunt and my dad went to the woods to find wild honey for their mead. Unfortunately for them, there also was a bear looking for honey too. When my aunt saw the bear, she screamed so loudly that even the bear was frightened, and in his shock, the bear knocked down the bee nest. Of course, the bee attacked my aunt and my dad and they ran home to our camp, screaming the entire way. I've never heard my father scream like that. Like a little girl.“

Y/n is giggling at the end of the story and has to wipe the side of her eye. When she's done, she notices that the rest of the men fell silent and were watching her intently. Suddenly, she's a bit embarrassed for rambling out a story like that.

„Anyways“, she says and raises her cup, „Cheers!“. Quickly she takes another sip and the men start laughing. Y/n feels incredibly embarrassed. A few of the men clap Katsuki's back who also looks embarrassed. Y/n lowers her head. She didn't want to embarrass Katsuki with her stupid story.

Suddenly, she feels Katsuki slide closer to her. He puts an arm around her tucking her safely into his side. Y/n peers up at him. He keeps his eyes fixed on his peers and y/n snuggles a bit deeper into his side. At least he doesn't seem mad now anymore. She keeps slurping her mead until it's empty. Also, she surely feels the buzz. This mead is a lot stronger than the one her aunt and father brewed.

She watches Katsuki for a while who also seems to be done with his cup. Eventually, she pulls at one of his necklaces trying to get his attention. Katsuki lets go of her and looks down at her. He mumbles something which y/n guess is something like a „what?“. She should write that word down later.

„Where's your dragon?“, she asks him. When Katsuki's brows only furrow, she points at a dragon and says „Dragon?“ and then points at him. It seems as if a light goes up in Katsuki's head. He says something to his men and then gets up taking y/n's hand. They leave the fire together and Katsuki leads her to a cave entrance. He gestures for her to stay behind him and y/n does as she's told. The last thing she wants is to wake up an angry dragon. She peeks behind Katsuki and sees the enormous form of the great red right in front of them. Katsuki gestures for her to step beside him.

„Drami“, Katsuki tells her and y/n looks at him uncertainly. Is that the word for dragon in his language?

„Drami.“, y/n repeats and the great red raises its head. Y/n watches with wide eyes how the dragon moves its big head and nudges Katsuki.

„Oi!“, Katsuki exclaims and tries to push the dragon away. Y/n has to giggle at the sight. Is this how she looks when she tries to push Katsuki away but he doesn't move at all?

The great red notices her as well and moves towards her. Fear strikes her even though she knows that the beast probably won't hurt her. The dragon nudges her as well but in contrast to Katsuki, y/n wasn't prepared for the force of the nudge. She stumbles and falls over. There's a grumbling sound in the dragon's throat and she's sure the beast is laughing at her.

„Hey!“, she complaints and sits up.

Suddenly, there are whistling sounds in the air. Then, y/n gets attacked by all sides. Little dragons nudges her from all sides. Pulling on her blanket and hair. It's not painful and when the first shock wears off, y/n has to laugh and she tries to push the little dragon off of her. When she looks up, her eyes meet Katsuki's who have a mischievous gleam in it. He laughs at her and y/n sticks out her tongue to him while fending off the lizards around her.

There's a deeper grumble in the air and the dragons let go off y/n. They rush back to the great red. The small ones have the same color as the great red and when they climb onto it, they become invisible. No wonder y/n didn't spot them before. Katsuki chuckles and helps her up.

„That was rude.“, y/n tells him and tries to rearrange her messy hair. Katsuki picks up the blanket and puts it around y/n's shoulders again. He ruffles her hair and says something to the great red. He gestures for y/n to follow him.

„Bye, Drami!“, y/n tells the great red and quickly follows Katsuki outside.

~*~*~*~*~

After Katsuki says goodbye to his men, he walks back to the village with y/n. She looks ridiculous, he thinks. She lost the nice clothes picked out for her and instead carries this ratched blanket around with her. Is she really that cold? Katsuki and his men walk around shirtless half of the time and even the women in his tribe wear more revealing clothes than the women from the kingdom. It makes him wonder if his mother might be right about y/n.

They walk back in silence and Katsuki notices how uncomfortable y/n feels. He can't blame her. She probably hasn't got a clue about what happened earlier today. He wants to feel sorry for her but can't find it in him to do so. She should man up a bit, he thinks to himself. Otherwise, she will never be accepted around here.

Doubt gnaws at the inside of his mind. He's been replaying the conversation with his mother again and again. The truth is that Mitsuki's right. Y/n isn't strong enough for his people. Physically and probably also mentally. She doesn't fit in. Hell, she doesn't even speak their language. Fine, that's something that can be tackled. Actually, Katsuki already decided that he'll send for Deku. That damn scholar can make himself useful and teach y/n their language.

And yet, Katsuki knows that he needs a strong mate by his side. One that stands strongly and proudly next to him as the leader of his people. Having a weak mate and weak offspring does not help his position. In contrast, it might give people a reason to doubt him. And who knows what the future holds.

So far the king Todoroki turned a blind eye to the dragonblood tribe's raid on his grounds. It's easier to let them take a few women than to fight his men. But how long will that go well? Katsuki already got the news that the king is stocking up his army. His tribe can handle a few strikes of retaliation. However, if it escalates to a full-blown war things look differently. The plague already decimated their numbers and with almost no women in the tribe to even out the number, the future looks grim.

His men did little to cheer him up. While they tried to support his choice, they also gave insight into their own homes. Comparing y/n to the few women they've brought home and mated. Denki's mate passed only after a few months. She lost weight rapidly after arriving in the village and one nasty cold later, the woman completely withered away. Not enough time to give him an heir. Kirishima's position is not rosy either. While his mate is still alive, the woman is terrified of him and that even though Kirishima is probably the softest of the bunch. The other men urge him to just take her since the tribe needs children and that's what the women are brought in for but Kirishima is too kind of a man to touch her against her will.

Kirishima doesn't speak it out loud but Katsuki knows how disgusted the man felt about himself after he mated her for the first time. Other men are not as docile as Kirishima. They take their new mates as they see fit. They think that if their new mate doesn't find it in themselves to accommodate the situation, at least they can submit to them and fulfill their duty as a mate.

Katsuki is so deep in his own thoughts that he doesn't notice how they arrived back at his tent. Only when y/n stops walking, he looks up. One of his mother's ladies-in-waiting is standing in front of his tent.

„Your mother wishes to speak to you. She's inside.“, the woman informs him. Katsuki gives her a nod and puts a hand on y/n's lower back pushing her inside.

„What do you want?“, Katsuki asks his mother upon entering the tent. His mother sits on the remaining chair with her arms and legs crossed.

„Did you mate her yet?“, she poses a counterquestion.

„Obviously not.“, Katsuki tells her. He gives y/n a side-eye and he notices how tense the smaller woman got. Clearly, she must fear his mother by now.

His mother rubs her temple.

„Katsuki, I didn't mean to upset you earlier.“, his mother states. Katsuki lets go of y/n and sits down on one of the trunks.

„I know that.“, he mumbles.

Mitsuki watches as her son uses a knife to scratch off dirt from the underside of his shoe. Meanwhile, y/n stands at the entrance of the room feeling absolutely lost. She feels like she shouldn't be here for this conversation. She tries to make eye contact with Katsuki who keeps his focus on his shoes. Mitsuki sighs loudly making y/n flinch.

„Katsuki, I'm glad you want to take on a mate. I've been afraid you'd refuse one completely. I'm just worried about your future, our future.“, Mitsuki points out. Her voice isn't exactly soft but probably as soft as the former chief can be.

Katsuki stabs the trunk with his knife.

„Don't you think I know that? Don't you think I'm worried, too?“, he barks at her.

Mitsuki gives her son a pointed look.

„I know you are. Which is more the reason why I don't understand... this.“, Mitsuki says and vaguely gestures towards y/n as if she's a piece of furniture rather than a real person standing in the room.

Looking back at it, y/n doesn't know why that was the reason to get her angry but it does. Y/n decides then and there that she doesn't like the woman who clearly is related to Katsuki. Why does she always pretend like I'm not there, y/n thinks. It makes her angry. It's rude. Also, y/n is pretty sure that his woman has nothing nice to say about her.

Katsuki looks at his mother annoyedly.

„What do you want me to say? I've chosen her. Don't you trust my reasons?“, he tells her.

„Do you trust your reasons? Because if you had, wouldn't you have mated her by now?“, Mitsuki strikes back.

Katsuki feels more and more irritated by each passing second.

„That's none of your business. Or do you also plan to check how often I fuck my mate?“, he bites back.

Mitsuki gives him a piqued look and shakes her head in disgust.

„Seriously, Katsuki. What the hell are you thinking?“, Mitsuki asks him.

Katsuki pushes himself off the trunk and ruffles his own hair roughly.

„I don't know, okay? I met her and we connected. I want her.“, he tells his mother.

„Aha, you want her. If you want her, then take her and pass her on, or let her go.“, Mitsuki replies.

Katsuki gives her an angry look.

„She's different from the other women we brought here.“, he tries to argue.

„In how far?“

Katsuki throws his arms up in the air.

„For one, she's not afraid of us or our dragons. Actually, I think Drami might like her. She's a fighter. I saw her fight a bandit with her bare hands. She can hunt, or at least read tracks to a certain degree. She can treat wounds and she picks up on things quite quickly. I'm sure that if that damn Deku teaches her, she will be speaking...“, Katsuki starts to ramble.

„Stop.“, Mitsuki says coldly and holds up a hand.

„I don't need to hear you sing praise to this woman. Nothing you said proves to me that she will be a good mate to you. You describe basic skills that everyone should have. If you think that...“, his mother continues.

„Can I say something about this?“, y/n enters the conversation. She's sick that she's forced to observe from the sidelines, especially considering that this is a conversation that's clearly about her. Y/n doesn't care that neither Katsuki nor this woman understands her. It's time to give both of them a piece of her mind.

Y/n stems her arm into her hips and points at Mitsuki.

„First of all, who do hell do you think that you are? I don't give a shit if you're their queen or something. My people believe that all humans are equals to one another. Therefore I can't stand how you talk about me pretending I'm not there. Secondly, I might not understand what you say but I'm sure you say very mean things about me. Did nobody teach you basic manners? Like seriously, at least have the decency to talk shit about me behind my back. But making me understand what you think of me without speaking my language? Wow, you must really be determined on making me feel like crap.“, y/n tells Mitsuki while holding eye contact with the woman. Mitsuki looks unpleasantly surprised by y/n's outburst.

„And now to you, mister!“, y/n says turning to Katsuki.

„You drag me all the way to your people, make me do stupid ceremonies that I don't understand and then you let his woman humiliate me in front of all of these people? And after all this, you take me back here just to throw a temper tantrum. What are you? Five? I honestly don't give a fuck about what that woman's issue is. What I do care about is how you handle it. And you're not handling it very successfully, dare I say. You're handling it like a manchild. Drinking your problems away with your buddies only to have another argument with her all over again? Seriously, I start to doubt if I made the right choice in trusting you!“, y/n gives Katsuki an earful.

Katsuki stares at her with wide eyes and an open mouth. Y/n takes a deep breath. She straightens her posture.

„That being said, I exclude myself from this conversation.“, she tells Katsuki proudly with her head held high.

Then, she turns around and stomps outside the tent. Mitsuki stares after her just as perplexed as her son does.

Outside, y/n is fuming. This whole situation frustrates her. Because people talk and decide things over her head. Because she has no way to take any form of action. This time, she doesn't cry.

It's time to find that Nadia woman and get some more information out of her, y/n thinks.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Tag list: @graviewaviee @cosmicbreathe @tsukikoxo @nnubee @witchbishsblog @elajede @bsallergy @frxcless @berryvioo @eyesforbkg @shamelesjaroflaffytaffy @pastelbaby1111 @iamlizardgod @plvt0fvtvre @hello-peanutdoodle-blog @guccirosegold @kookiemyfeelsposts @sweetblueworm @54fangirl @sakurarr1122 @rv19 @leeliyah @king-dynamight @confused-smol-fan @xmaudx @waterstarz @pinkwhiskerglitter @adeline96 @zoom1374 @fingui @giuli-in-earth @colouringfrogssittinginleaves @futuristicallykawaiiturtle @tragedyofabrokensoul @dynakats @rebel-loves-anime @cloudxluv @itsssyagurll @sunshineandwitchery @cloudxluv @hollykanuki @atouchofmidnight @nutellaenjoyer @musicbecky @miacitocco @cassouandco @penguinlovestowrite @sleepykittycx @bakugouswh0r3 @xxjesshuxx @helenamaximoff @ssssssws-world @k1tk4tkatsuki @gh0stgirl333 @anon-mouse223 @bexxs @i-am-ms-rebel-heart @wannabeisekai @spragaraga @faemagic88 @kolakoke @faetoraa @cax-per @willy-the-witch @stardream14 @jiyuu-da @mintytalesblog @sparklyoperaroadpie @musicbecky @maria-patricia @mistermemister @katsukismrs @l0kisbitch @bakukiriswife @rebel-loves-anime @drink-water-456

@gold24fish @notsaelty

[I think I can't tag anymore people, sorry! Unless anybody knows what I'm doing wrong...]

[femsolid]

I watched the movie Strange Darling tonight. Great rating on IMDB. Positive reviews all around. It was sexist propaganda à la Gone Girl. I'm sure it'll be called a feminist movie.

The story is about a serial killer hunting down his last victim. During the first part of the movie we see a young, skinny, blond woman being chased by the killer, a big man with a rifle. She's in pain and has lost an ear. The man is not hurt and every time he appears on screen, some big scary music plays, telling us "he's the killer!"

Then we see a flashback of their first encounter. They're on a date, drinking in his car, she gives him a lecture about how a one night stand can be a life or death situation for women, so women aren't prudes they are careful, but he can't understand that because he's a man. Unlike in real life, he patiently listens and doesn't object nor scream Not All Men. A little feminist lesson. She then tells him that her "kink" is to be strangled and beaten in bed... okayyyy what was the point of the feminist lesson exactly? He's flabbergasted and reluctantly agrees to indulge her. Because we all know it's women who want to be abused, men are just following our lead and have no sadistic bone in their bodies. She starts crying and tells him to stop during it, she tells him that just because she said yes at the start doesn't mean she can't say no later and he should respect that. He feels bad, and suddenly she starts laughing, she was just messing with him pretending to have boundaries and stuff, what a turn on! She toys with him, keeps inviting him to have sex and then says no at the last second because women are just twisted provocatrice, I guess. What a tease! She's giving him "mixed signals." Then she drugs him and tortures him, and we discover that she's the serial killer, and he's a cop! HA! You thought women were abused by men? You thought her little feminist lessons were sensible? You were wrong! Never trust a woman! Men can be victims, too! The reason we didn't see his injuries at the beginning of the movie was because she tortured him with a knife on his chest. See? Men have hidden scars. Don't assume they are the abusers! Since he's a cop, he has a secret gun and manages to escape her by shooting her ear off. She runs from him, and he chases her, and we're back to the beginning of the movie. He catches her eventually, handcuffs her and calls her a cunt.

She still manages to kill him, right as the police arrives because he called for backup. She puts her pants down and lays on the floor ass naked, crying, pretending that he tried to rape her, and she defended herself. False rape accusations, guys! Don't be fooled by women playing the victims! There are two police officers that arrive: a woman and a man. The woman is immediately sympathetic to the fake rape victim, something her male partner questions. She responds "it's obvious what happened", takes the handcuffs off the killer and helps her get up, while the male cop tells her to wait because things don't look right. Blinded by her female solidarity and her defence of rape victims, the stupid female cop doesn't follow the procedure. She tells the male cop that just because she has a vagina doesn't mean she's wrong, another little feminist lesson rendered voluntarily ridiculous by the fact that we all know she's gravely wrong and will likely get both of them killed. He tells her it has nothing to do with her vagina, he speaks from experience because he's older. Eventually the truth is revealed, the victim is the killer, the male police officer calls the killer a bitch. The killer lets the female officer go because she helped her, and kills the male.

The entire movie had a clear message that we all know too well by now: men are the real victims, don't trust women who report abuse, feminism is laughable. I mean, the propaganda wasn't even subtitle or anything. The killer spends a good portion of the movie in lingerie too. Instant classic. True cinema. Would you be surprised if I told you this movie was directed and written by a man?

[yandere-sins]

About the thing where darling's descended from a close friend of Maleficent, imagine if darling's ancestor befriended Maleficent when she was still a princess and darling looked exactly like her ancestor in her younger days. Maleficent would definitely teach darling to be a strong, amazing woman like her ancestor (I'd say that she inherited her ancestor's magic, she hid it in NRC though). Malleus is done for, grandma's personally teaching HIS darling now.

I'd say these didn't age 100% well with the story, but we're reviving the Maleficent's friend!Darling!! Thank you for chatting with me about it ♥

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

I think Malleus would honestly grow so pissed at his own grandma as he has to idly watch her take all of your precious time while being so focused on you she doesn't even help him with the nobles. She is not the one who should stand by your side as you are introduced at the ball. He should have been the one who showed you off and strengthened your bond with Briar Valley. While Maleficent is boasting about you, Malleus still has to fight off eager nobles who want him to take their children as his partner or at least concubine.

He really wanted to enjoy the night with you, though.

Even though he is well aware of what his grandma is doing—boasting your own confidence while being in the scrutinizing eye of every noble of Briar Valley—he is very miffed that you are so far away from him, almost unreachable, transcendent. As if he can't reach you while he puts on a fake smile and uses short, dismissive rejection on the next nobles of his beloved home. He's been asked to dance by so many people but not you, it makes him feel dizzy from anger.

Would you be concerned if he collapsed? Should he use some orchestrated weakness to gain your attention, your worry, and your affection? It might be worth it to lose some of his high standing in front of the nobles if it brought you back to his side, your beautiful eyes stricken with worry and grief about his condition. Your hands are on his body instead of the countless hand kisses that have been offered to you that night. Yes, yes, his grandmother was doing a good job weaving your fate back into Briar Valley after centuries of your bloodline being lost to another world. Still, Malleus cannot help but be selfish when he desires you so much. His eyes are constantly on you, barely forced away to greet another unimportant noble approaching him. There is so much longing and want in his eyes that he is very hard to approach despite having to maintain the facade.

Maleficient definitely notices his staring, the wistful puppy eyes of her grandson, but she does it for him, too. After all, to be able to marry off a non-fae (even without your knowledge) to someone as important as Malleus, she needs to gather all the approval she can get. It's not easy when you are respected while also being a grandma to an obviously lovesick fool of a grandson.

So she constantly, albeit very subtly, corrects your posture by poking you, make you use your fan as she has taught you, clears her throat when you laugh too loudly or speak too quietly. She is constantly nitpicking every one of your mannerisms, only satisfied when the nobles walk away nodding and approving of your presence at court. She does it all night long while feeling the daggers Malleus glares into her back. But she does it for you two.

And before the night ends, she asks the orchestra to play a few gentle songs before leading you away from the crowd. You are exhausted and sweaty, but Maleficient has to make a statement, and seeing her grandson light up as he realizes it's finally his turn with you makes all the training and hard work worth it.

Malleus is by your side in an instant, asking you for the dance. You are exhausted, but a last clearing of Maleficient's throat reminds you to do as you are told. She announces the last dance of the night, and although all eyes are on you and the heir of Briar Valley, quite a few people join in as if to show you their support.

You may be uncomfortable after going through such a long evening of being nitpicked at and forced to behave like someone you aren't. But Malleus makes it easy to follow his steps, always keeping a soft smile on his lips even when you step on his foot. You are so relieved when the song finally runs out, knowing you can finally go to bed, but as you two bow to each other, you are surprised to find Malleus clinging to you. He turns you to say goodnight to his grandma before pulling you out of the ballroom before anyone else, picking you up once you reach the hallway so he can walk even faster and fly away to get to his room more easily.

Because for the rest of the night, you are all his.

[highladyandromeda]

Shadows of the Heart

Part 1

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: After years apart, Y/n returns to Velaris, bearing the weight of sacrifice and secrets from her past. Reunited with Rhysand and his Inner Circle, she navigates the complexities of rekindled friendships and unresolved tensions. 

Warnings: mentions of blood, but nothing particularly graphic

WC: 1k

[Prologue]

Three days drifted by before Mor finally stirred from her deep slumber, her body frail and still reeling from the mutated faebane she had ingested. Though she nearly fainted again once she saw Y/n across from her, surrounded by an amalgamation of healing salves and blood-soaked bandages. Rhys, looking haggard from days of ceaseless worry, was by her side in an instant, having anchored himself to the room, steadfast in his refusal to leave them.

The inner circle, their family, had rallied around, taking turns to keep Rhys company, with Azriel stepping up more than anyone. He told himself it was because of his duty as the spymaster, accustomed to the long, sleepless nights. Yet, in the quiet moments, it was Y/n who captured his thoughts, her name a whisper in the back of his mind. Rhys had introduced her simply as "a dear old friend," but the weight of those words suggested so much more.

Azriel found himself drawn to her, ostensibly under the guise of safety. He watched—the subtle rise and fall of her chest, the delicate flutter of her eyelashes, and the gradual resurgence of color painting her cheeks as Mor's condition stabilized. Rhys's tenderness around her was palpable; he hovered constantly, his hands gently tending to her wounds, smoothing salves, replacing bandages, and even brushing her hair with a care that spoke volumes. The crimson magic that danced around her injuries seemed as lost as she was, at times spiraling along Rhys's arms, at others, drifting curiously towards Azriel's lurking shadows.

Once, her magic reached out, touching the darkness before swiftly retreating, but not before his shadows whispered to him

Beautiful. They said. But tired. Tired. Wants to sleep. 

Driven by a mix of concern and curiosity, Azriel had just hastened back to the room, alerted by his shadows to Mor's awakening, only to witness her launching herself out of bed in a frantic bid to reach Y/n. His quick reflexes prevented another fall, catching Mor in a steady grasp, and sitting her down.

"How—what happened?" Mor's voice trembled, her eyes wide as she took in the blood-soaked scene. "Why is there so much blood—wait, is that all her blood? Rhysand!" Her voice climbed, a note of panic threading through her confusion.

Rhysand's face, a mask of exhaustion and worry, softened as he turned to Mor, his voice low and soothing, "It's okay, Mor. You're safe now, both of you are. Y/n... she saved you."

The room was thick with tension, the air heavy as if the very walls were holding their breath. Mor's eyes, wide with disbelief, moved from Rhys to Y/n and back again, as he recounted the ordeal. 

Feyre and Cassian burst into the room then, their expressions a mix of relief and concern. "How is she?" Feyre asked, rushing to Mor's side, her gaze flitting between the two women laid out before them. 

"Awake, finally," Rhys responded, his voice threaded with fatigue yet underscored by a tangible relief. He remained anchored by Y/n's side, his hand lightly resting on hers. 

Cassian moved closer, his gaze lingering on Y/n with a newfound respect. "This is some serious magic she pulled off," he muttered, his voice a mixture of awe and concern, "to save Mor like that."

Mor, gathering the remnants of her strength, attempted to stay seated, her eyes locking onto Y/n's still form. "But... why? Why would she do this for me?" The question hung in the air, raw and laden with emotion.

Rhys's gaze softened, "It’s Y/n… Could she really just stand aside and do nothing, knowing you were in danger, Mor?"

"But she—" Mor's voice broke, looking the most forlorn Azriel had seen her in years. 

"I know," Rhys cut in, his voice firm yet gentle. “And you know that it was complicated back then. Promises were made. That doesn’t mean she has changed, not really.”

"Centuries, Rhys. It's been centuries. I wasn't even sure if she was... still among us," Mor whispered, the weight of years echoed in her voice.

"Centuries? Hold on, how do both of you know her?" Cassian, ever the one to voice the burning questions, brought the room's focus sharply to the heart of the mystery.

The room's attention swiveled to Rhys and Mor, with even Amren and Nesta quietly joining the circle. A silent communication passed between Rhys and Mor, a shared history in a single glance before Rhys cleared his throat.

"Well," he started, the word hanging in the air as he gathered his thoughts. "Without diving too deep into her story—out of respect for her privacy—it's safe to say that Y/n and I share a past. We were raised together in Hewn City... She was, quite possibly, my very first friend."

A ripple of surprise and intrigue swept through the group, each member processing the revelation in their own way. 

“Why did she leave.” Feyre broached. 

"It's... complicated, darling," Rhys pondered the best way to explain. 

"To simplify, her father held a position of significant influence under my father's command, privy to the secrets of Velaris. Given how I became High Lord, he and his family chose to leave, out of respect for my rule, given Keir’s proclivities for rebellion.” 

“What he doesn’t say” Mor interjected, her voice laced with a mix of frustration and sadness. “Was that he offered Y/n a position, he–we requested she stay. Repeatedly.”

“It was more complicated than that, Mor”

“Was it, Rhys? Mor bristled. “She left you when you needed her most, Rhys. We all felt the void she left behind.”

"It wasn't just about politics or positions," Rhys's expression turned somber, his usual charm and ease giving way to a moment of vulnerability. "Y/n…had her reasons, tied to her family's legacy and their own secrets.”

Feyre, sensing the tension, reached for Rhys's hand, offering silent support.

“It was difficult for all of us. I know it hurt you, Mor. We all had regrets.”

Mor sighed, turning around to lay back down. It wasn't easy to concede that her initial shock had morphed into anger, rooted deeply in pain. After all these years, the thought of being reunited with her friend under such harrowing circumstances, indebted to her for her very life, was a reality she hadn't been prepared to face.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: I promise there'll be more interactions between Azriel and Y/n in the next parts, I just wanted to set the scene for her complicated history. I also just love platonic interactions between the inner circle and want build up how Y/n is/becomes a part of their family.

[goodlucktai]

Uhuuh if you don't mind for the injury promo maybe 12 with splinter/lou and his boys, pls?

dialogue prompts

12. “Where are they? Where are they?!”

this one got away from me :') rise/2012 crossover babyyyyyyy

x

Splinter’s counterpart reacted to the news of their sons’ abduction with a level of dramatics that he would never ascribe to his own self. 

“What?” the shorter rat (“Call me Lou,” he had said, and then proceeded not to explain why) squawked at the disheveled humans still trying to collect their breath at the entrance of the lair. “When did this happen? How did this happen? There were TEN of you!”

Casey and April both winced in face of the not-unwarranted scolding. The children had had perhaps too much confidence as they left together earlier that evening. Donatello’s computer had alerted him in the middle of dinner to a new lead on the gang whose activity they had been following for the past weeks. Raphael had smashed his fists together, a wicked grin on his face, and said they should strike while their forces were doubled and make those ‘goons’ regret robbing every pharmacy in Manhattan north of The Battery. 

“Tiny feral Raph is hilarious,” Lou’s Purple had said in a deadpan. “And also alarmingly down to commit atrocities. I want to ride with him.”

And now, not even two full hours later, their human companions returned to report a resounding failure. 

Casey, scowling at the floor, said, “They got the drop on us. The door sealed as soon as we were in and the room started filling up with gas.”

“They said they were chemists,” April added. She couldn’t lift her head enough to look Splinter in the eye, staring hard somewhere near his shoulder instead. “One of their colleagues was mutated about a year ago and they’ve been studying the mutagen ever since. I don’t know what they want with the boys, but they made it sound like the gas was made with the turtle’s physiology in mind. That it would outright kill me and Casey, but shouldn’t harm them.”

Lou was bristling, tail lashing. “‘Shouldn’t’ is the word they used?” he gritted out. 

“Yeah. It hit them hard in seconds. But Blue—uh, your Leo—” Casey said, with an uncomfortable sideways look at Lou, “—he managed to get one of his swords out and portaled me and April away. We waited for like five minutes to see if he’d get anyone else out, but…”

But no one came goes unsaid. 

Splinter tapped his walking stick on the floor once to recall their focus, warm affection filling his chest for these little Hamato adoptees who fell haphazardly into his clan. 

“Lou is correct,” he said. “It is unfortunate that your team was so quickly overwhelmed. We will discuss how to better handle situations like this another time.” 

Both humans stood a little taller when it became clear that that conversation would be tabled for the time being, and April finally found it within herself to meet Splinter’s eyes. 

“For now—” he started, only for Lou to cut him off with a sound not unlike a cat whose tail had just been stepped on.

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” the shorter rat snapped. “I don’t care if they lost within two minutes, let alone two hours. I only meant,” he went on, with a hard look at the teenagers, “that you should have called the instant you were in danger! Why on earth would you run all the way home like this without letting us know what had happened, putting yourselves at unnecessary risk? This organization could have had additional members waiting to pick you off when you were alone! You could have at least made time to send a text!”

Casey and April looked absolutely bewildered. Their respect for Splinter was so deeply ingrained by now that it carried over to this odd likeness of him but they did not seem to know what to do with this manner of reprimand. 

“Uh,” Casey said eloquently. “Splinter doesn’t have a phone.”

“There was the cheese phone,” April interjected. “Sorry, I mean, he had a landline. But the wiring got messed up awhile ago and Donnie never got around to fixing it.”

“You have seven children,” Lou seethed, narrowing his eyes at Splinter, “and you don’t see the importance of having a working phone?”

Splinter frowned. He was taken aback by the number seven, but more so by this hostility that seemed to have sprung up from nowhere. 

“We have gotten along just fine. Donatello’s inclination towards technology was not inherited from me.”

“There’s no time to continue this conversation, and if we do I am liable to start screaming profanities anyway. Jones, O’Neil, take me to my boys.” 

Lou was still bristling with anger, only now that Splinter was looking closer, he saw that the shorter rat was actually bristling. His fur was standing up as though with electric static. 

“If even one scale on their shells has been harmed,” he added darkly, to no one in particular, “there will be hell to pay.”

April led the way to the garage at a sprint, hopping up without breaking stride to grab the keys from their hook on the wall just inside the door. She tossed the keys to Casey and claimed the front passenger seat for herself, leaving the two fathers to pile into the back of the van. 

It wasn’t until she was still that Splinter noticed her fingertips were red and raw from where she had bitten the nails down to the quick. As Casey started the engine, her thumbnail found its way back between her teeth, blue eyes feverish with worry as she stared into the middle distance. 

She was very anxious, for all that she seemed determined to keep it to herself in present company. Her sideways glance at Casey made it clear that she wanted to share her thoughts with him; a flick of her eyes toward the rearview mirror decided her continued silence.

On the bench seat beside him, Splinter watched Lou take out his own phone. It was a thin flat device, held in a protective case that looked like it would probably survive an apocalypse. The caller ID on the screen was a picture of that behemoth snapping turtle in a fuzzy pink hoodie, squeezed cheek-to-cheek with his tiny spotted brother so they both fit into the frame. 

“Red, this is no time to screen my calls!” Lou said when the tinny automated voice encouraged him to leave a message. “Contact me at once or you are grounded for a month! No, two months!”

“They are probably in no position to answer,” Splinter pointed out, Lou’s restlessness leaving him feeling ill-at-ease. “I am sure they are fine. My sons have been in situations like this countless times.”

Lou pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yoshi, I’m going to level with you. I don’t know how to explain that it’s weird you have become desensitized to the news that your children are in danger. My Baby Blue once locked himself inside a prison dimension with an evil killing machine, and less than a year after that he almost cracked his foolish head open on that ridiculous half-pipe mimicking some superstar skater, and my soul left my body in exactly the same manner both times. That never changes. It has never gone away.”

It was disingenuous of Lou to presume that Splinter did not worry after his sons. Of course he did. They were his greatest pride and it was a privilege he did not deserve to have raised them. 

But they were not the clumsy toddlers they once were; at some point, the parent must let go of the bicycle and step back, or the child will never learn to ride it. 

Splinter could not say he had ever taken the time to consider what it might have been like to meet another version of himself—one who had lived a similar life but had made different choices. He almost did not recognize himself at all in the fussy, short-tempered mutant sitting beside him. 

Lou checked his phone no less than eleven more times during the twenty-minute drive. By the time Casey finally announced, “This is it,” Lou was out of the van before it had even begun to slow. 

“The two of you must remain here,” Splinter told the teenagers in the front firmly. He couldn’t help but think of Lou’s scolding from earlier, and added, “If there is any sign of danger, escape at once and go to the Mutanimals. They will help.”

“I texted the group chat earlier and they haven’t seen it yet,” Casey said, flicking through his phone to double-check. 

“We can’t just leave you,” April added with enough stubborn loyalty that she could have been Raphael’s twin sister. 

“You absolutely can leave us, or you will be grounded, too,” Lou interjected from over by the door, his voice taking on that sharp no-nonsense tone Splinter had last heard directed at Blue over breakfast to curb his relentless teasing of Donatello. 

‘It is just how he and Purple show affection to each other,’ Lou had explained to Donatello, whose shoulders had begun to creep up towards his ears the longer Blue carried on. ‘That does not make it any less irritating for the rest of us though!’

‘Skill issue,’ his twins said in unison. 

‘I will cram all three of you into the get-along shirt! Do not test me!’ Lou had snapped in that particular tone that caused his children to grumble and sulk but ultimately obediently subside. 

Similarly, April scowled but did not seem willing to argue any further. Splinter would have expected her to give a Miwa-worthy retort that she was too old to be grounded and not Splinter’s daughter to discipline besides, but she only jerked her chin in a barely passable nod and said nothing more. An equally unhappy but unargumentative Casey turned off the headlights and twirled the steering wheel, backing the van up and parking it by the access road.

Lou had already kicked the reinforced door down by the time Splinter joined him, and he barely had a moment to think My seventeen-year-olds are stealthier than that before he realized Lou had not come with stealth in mind.

He had the first unfortunate human within his line of sight pinned to the ground with a knife in seconds, barking, “Where are they? Where are they?”

The human, caught unawares, coughed at the unforgiving pressure on her windpipe, and managed to wheeze out, “Wh-who do you—”

“You are a scientist, and therefore I know you are not an idiot,” Lou hissed, much like the animal he had been mutated with. “Do not waste my time acting like one.” 

The woman scrabbled at his arms, for what little good it did. Her eyes, behind the clear visor of the gas mask, were wide with fear. To her credit, she steeled herself enough to cling to whatever mission she and her associates seemed to have rallied behind, saying, “So many incredible things could be—be accomplished—if we had a chance to study the mutagen more closely, if we had test subjects with human-like intelligence. It’s closer to magic than science, and we could do so much—”

“You would experiment on children? My children? Turn them into lab rats?” The last he said with a very personal sort of dark anger. The scientist coughed again, and her renewed struggles were a desperate, animalistic thing as she lost the last of her air beneath the unrelenting press of Lou’s hand. “Is that what you think you should be saying to me? Is that what you think will save you—an appeal to the greater good?”

Splinter dispatched the handful of people who streamed into the room in a series of swift strikes. They were unconscious before they hit the ground.

“Lou,” he said, “that is enough. We are here for our sons.”

He was not unsettled by the shorter rat’s capacity for violence. He knew himself better than that. But he did not understand Lou’s hair-trigger temper, his turtle-shaped blind spot. He couldn’t speak for the other’s students, but Splinter’s own were experienced, and tempered, and incredibly skilled. After everything they survived and accomplished together up until now, he found it hard to believe that an organization of regular humans could pose much of a threat to their well-being. 

From the way Lou was acting, it was as if he was any ordinary parent whose ordinary children had been taken in the night. 

Splinter shifted to intervene when the woman Lou had pinned continued to choke. Finally, Lou released her enough that she could heave in desperate breaths. 

“You would not actually kill her,” Splinter chided him, no fan of theatrics. 

“Someone has not been paying attention,” Lou replied shortly. “If my boys are hurt, I will burn this building down with everyone inside it. Honor can go hang itself.”

With that, he removed the woman’s gas mask and informed her that she would lead them to the turtles without making a scene, or she would bleed to death on the floor and they would find the turtles on their own. White-faced, she wisely settled for the first option. 

Leading them toward the back of the building, where rooms that were once offices had since been repurposed into labs and testing areas, the woman said hoarsely, “I didn’t know they were kids.”

Like clockwork, Lou’s fur bristled with offense. “They are wearing matching Sanrio hoodies. They speak in memes. I am sure at least one of them called you a boomer to your face.”

“No, I meant,” she said, touching her bruised throat briefly before dropping her hand, “I meant I didn’t know they were someone’s kids. I’m—I wouldn’t have—sorry. We were trying to do good. I’m sorry.”

“Hmph. I will consider forgiving you in roughly one hundred years as long as my turtles are completely fine. This door here?”

He kicked it down before she could move her head more than one half-inch in a nod. There was a flurry of excitement inside, and then Blue’s voice rang out, “Daddy!”

He sounded ecstatic to see his father, but not at all shocked. His words were a little slurred as he went on, “I told them you’d be here any minute. Our cousins over there wanted to stage a break-out, and I was like. Just nap. You know? Just take five. See, Miguel’s got the right idea.”

“Hush, silly turtle,” Lou said, his tone now a complete departure from how he had sounded for the last half hour. “Come here, let me look at you all. I need to be absolutely certain no one in this building deserves to die before we leave.”

Splinter joined him inside the room in time to take in the sight of the shorter rat attempting to hold all four of his much larger sons in his arms. Orange was deeply asleep in Red’s lap, his smaller stature probably contributing to the higher concentration of the drug in his system. The twins were upright at a forty-five degree angle, and Red himself seemed groggy but alert for the most part. They were smiling as they absorbed their father's fussy attention, leaning into his hands.

Comparatively, Splinter’s own sons were swaying where they sat. Michelangelo’s eyes were open, but his head was resting on Donatello’s shoulder, Donatello’s cheek propped on the crown of his little brother’s head. Raphael was wired, digging fingers into his thighs to keep himself awake, while Leonardo seemed to have been startled out of a meditation by the door crashing down. 

They all lurched with surprise to see Splinter standing there. Leonardo in particular gazed up at him with wide eyes, as if he didn’t know what to do now that the task of rescuing the seven others was no longer his responsibility. As if he had no experience with a burden being lifted away once he had decided it was his to carry. 

For the first time all night, Splinter faltered. 

On the other side of the room, Blue said, “I’m, uh, sorry. I wanted to get us out, but I didn’t have time for more than one door.” 

“Dum-dum,” Purple said succinctly. “O’Neil and Jones would be dead if they were still here.”

“Dee’s right for once, Leon,” Red rumbled, “you made the only call you could.”

“But I should have been able to save everyone, right?” Blue said. “I’m the leader.”

“You,” Lou said sternly, holding Blue’s face in both hands, “are seventeen.” 

That’s right, Splinter found himself thinking, looking down at his eldest son. The brilliant boy he taught to read, the one he taught to fold origami flowers for his mother and sister’s shrine, the one he had stopped holding one day without even realizing it. He is. 

[kteezy997]

Hi! Could you do one with female reader and Timmy are dating for a while, then he ends up taking her virginity but he’s sooo sweet about it?

Feel free to play with the story line as you wish!

Thanks!! ☺️

the first time, part one//t.c.

Warnings: fluff, virgin reader (obvi), smut, female receiving oral sex, mention of cum, unprotected sex

This is a long one, js.

The last few months of dating Timothée were the happiest you had ever been. You’d fallen so hard for him; he was sweet and gentlemanly, but never corny. He was everything you wanted in a partner, and even more: kind, smart, funny, and dedicated to his work. Even when he had a million things going on in his mind, he still made you feel like the only woman in the world. You were so proud to be his.

He had been away for a couple of weeks as he had begun filming his long-awaited Bob Dylan biopic. You were so happy for him as he had been preparing for the role for literally years, and you knew he was absolutely in his element on that set.

As proud of him as you were, you couldn’t wait for him to return to you, even if it was only for a short weekend. You had a special plan to show him how serious about him that you were, and how in love you were with him. You were going to give your virginity to him.

Timmy didn’t know that you were a virgin. No one else in your life really knew it either. It wasn’t something you talked about, or really thought much about. You weren’t saving it for any particular reason. It just hadn’t happened. You had never gotten to that place with someone. And you weren’t the ‘one night stand’ type.

You knew that maybe some people would make fun or judge you for being a virgin in your 20s, but you knew Timmy wasn’t like that. He had always been loving and respectful, never putting any pressure on you.

Now you were ready. You wanted this so badly with him. You began to wonder if you had unwittingly been waiting all these years for Timmy specifically. You really felt like he could be the person you’d spend the rest of your life with.

……

That evening, he texted you that he was in an Uber from the airport on the way to your place. You had your lingerie on underneath your cute-yet-comfy clothes. You knew he’d be tired from work and travel, but you hoped he wouldn’t be too tired.

You were sat on the couch, waiting for Timmy and watching a movie. You tried not to think too much about how the night would go. You knew you had no reason to be nervous. Timmy cared about you. He hadn't said the words yet, but he always made you feel loved and desirable, and you were certain that this night would be no different.

The knock on the door finally came, and you hurried to open it up for Timmy.

He looked so cute and cozy in his sweats and ball cap that had a fight on its hands trying to contain his wild, fluffy hair. "Hey, I've missed you." he said, his eyes were sleepy, but he smiled widely. He set his bags down on the floor and threw his long arms around you.

"I missed you too." you cooed, squeezing him back, feeling instant comfort, and you giggled as he lifted you off your feet. His warm lips pressed a kiss to your neck.

Once he set you back down on the floor, your eyes met, and it was electric. You felt butterflies looking into his hazel-green eyes many times before, but this time was a little different. It was much more sensual.

He grinned at you before giving you a sweet, soft kiss in your lips.

You were a little lost in the moment and you forgot your manners, so you offered, “Do you need a drink or anything?”

Timmy shook his head ‘no’ politely, “I’m okay for now.” He looked over to the couch briefly, sighed, “I’m so tired, babe.” He took your hand to lead you to the couch.

You sat with him, and he rested his head on your shoulder. There was no space between the two of you and your hormones were raging with him so close.

“What’re you watching?” he asked, and a small yawn fell from his mouth.

…….

Cuddling and watching the movie was nice, Timmy gradually snuggled his way into your lap. You found yourself caressing his messy curls, running your fingertips idly over the sharp lines of his face.

You really didn’t want him to sleep, but you could tell how exhausted he was. His breathing slowed, he fidgeted less and less. He was like putty in your lap. You looked down and his lashes closed up. He hummed lightly in his sleep.

Defeated, you picked another movie to watch as your boyfriend slept on you.

……..

Timmy stirred after about a thirty-minute nap. Your legs were numbed by the weight of him, but you didn’t mind. He was so cute when he was sleeping.

He turned, eyes opened, and looked up at you, “Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t wanna fall asleep on you.” His sleepy voice was so sexy, it made you weak.

“It’s okay. You’ve been really busy lately, I get it.” you gently ran your fingers through his tousled hair.

He sat up, “I know but, it’s our time to be together. I feel bad.”

“Don’t feel bad. You’re awake now. You weren’t out very long.” Now was your chance. You leaned in and caught his lips in a tender kiss. You rested your hand on his neck and moaned ever so lightly into the kiss.

Timmy opened his mouth, inviting your tongue in.

You swiped your tongue into his warm, wet mouth. His arms slid around your body, and he pulled you onto his lap. His hands went to your hips, and he squeezed your flesh there as you straddled him.

You deepened the kiss and held his face in your hands. Your fingers wove into the soft locks behind his ears.

"Mm," Timmy moaned against your lips, pulled away and said, "when you kiss me like that, my dick gets hard."

You grinned, then took his hat off of his head, letting his curls fall free. "I want you, Timmy." you cooed, kissing him again. You felt his hand on your cheek, and he caressed your face. You placed your hands on his chest, letting them roam down the front of his body. His lean figure was firm to the touch.

As you made out with him and shifted in his lap, you could feel that he definitely wasn't lying. You pulled away from his kiss, but he kept you close to kiss and nibble on your neck. You looked down and there was a tent in his sweatpants.

After seeing how strained he was, how ready he was to fuck you, it all became super real. You weren't going to be a virgin after this night. You had to tell him it was your first time.

"Timmy," you began, your hand holding the back of his head as he sucked on your throat.

"Yeah?" he mumbled against your skin. His breath tickled your neck.

"Um, I have to tell you something. It's a little awkward."

"Y/n," he took his mouth off your neck, and leaned back to look at your face, "what do you mean? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, I just wanted to tell you that...I'm a virgin."

"Oh, is that all?" his eyes widened a little, but his expression remained unbothered. "There's nothing awkward about that, baby." he held your face in his hand and kissed your cheek. "Are you scared?" his eyes had become a darker, more serious shade of green.

You shook your head, saying, "No. I'm just ready to be with you."

He smiled and leaned in to touch his forehead delicately to yours. "I'm ready too." He kissed you tenderly, slowly getting on top of you.

You laid down underneath your man and watched him take his shirt off. After, he slid his fingers under the waistband of your pants and pulled them down your legs. He caressed your buttery smooth skin and left little kisses up the way of your legs. He stopped then moved up further, his hands on your hips. He started to kiss your lower tummy, along the line of your panties.

You felt yourself getting wet, and unable to stay perfectly still. You took your shirt off, wanting to feel his warm lips all over your body. As if he could read your mind, he trailed his kisses over your stomach. Your breathing became uneven, his little chin hairs tickled your ribs. His fingers splayed over the narrowest part of your waist; you could feel the callouses on them from his guitar lessons. It was a stark contrast the softness of your skin.

Then, his handsome face was nestled between your breasts, kissing and nibbling your exposed cleavage. He brought his hands up to cup them through your bra.

You moaned, feeling your nipples harden. Your pussy was hot and slick at this point. You locked your legs around Timmy, just needing him as close as possible.

He tugged the sides of your panties down, then tossed them onto the floor. He settled down in between your legs, looked up at you as his mouth met your folds. He slid his tongue between them, such a foreign, but thrilling feeling. Only you had ever touched yourself there.

You threw your head back as he lapped up your arousal. He flicked his tongue over your clit, flattened his tongue over your most sensitive area, suckled at it with his lips. You cried out his name, and put your hand in his hair in an effort to keep him from leaving your pussy.

Timmy held your thighs firmly, and moaned against your folds, creating blissful vibrations. You knew he would have skills, but this was unimaginable. He then quickened the pace of his talented tongue, flicking your clit over and over. It was too much, you could feel your heartbeat in your core, your body shook as you came.

"Fuck," he huffed as he removed his face from between your legs, "that was hot, baby girl. Your cum tastes so good." His lips and chin were glossy, because of you. He then pulled his pants off and his boxers.

You caught glimpse of his hard cock, impressive in length and pink at the tip. Your pussy throbbed at the sight.

“Is it okay if I put in you?” Timmy asked, taking his dick in his hand, ready.

You nodded eagerly, “Yes, please.”

He placed his thick tip at your hole, then slowly started to slide in. Your wetness made him glide easily, but he was tight fit inside you. He nestled his lower body between your legs and held your hips in his hands.

You gasped as his cock filled you up. The stretch was painful, but as he thrusted in and out more, it became bearable, then after about a minute, it felt really good.

“How’s it feel, love?” he asked you, looking down at you as he pumped his hips a little faster.

You put your hands on his back, “Mm, it’s so good.”

Timmy then kissed your face, your neck, your lips. “I’ve dreamt of your tight pussy on my cock.” he said, his voice low, and so sensual.

“Yeah? You wanted to fuck my little pussy?” you purred, then squeezed his body with your legs. You then remembered your vagina has muscles, so you squeezed around his cock too.

“Ah, fuck!” he cried, then bucked his hips faster.

There was more friction inside you now, and more pleasure. “Oh my god!” you whimpered.

He stopped after a couple of minutes, pushed your legs apart so he could move out of their grip. He turned you over, smacking your ass along the way.

You giggled, not knowing until then how much you liked being spanked.

Timmy grabbed you by the hips, pulling your ass back toward him. Then you felt his fingers at the clasp of your bra, and your breasts were free in a matter of seconds. He teased your wet entrance with the tip of his cock, he circled your clit with it, making you tremble with need.

A/N: sorry to end it there, but this chapter was getting too long, i think. part two coming soon!

@gatoenlaciudad @thebetawolfgirl @musicandbooksaremyhappyplace @softhecreator @tchalamss @bitchyunknownuser @lixzey @ducktapebar @aoi-targaryen @yukideadinside @mel-vaz @thatoneweirdgirl17 @iwishchalamet @jindongdongie @elloise0 @rennyd26 @briefkittenearthquake @that-one-fangirl69

[heylittleriotact]

𝓐𝓵𝓰𝓸𝓻 𝓜𝓸𝓻𝓽𝓲𝓼:

The normal cooling of a body after death as it equilibrates with the ambient temperature.

Takes place immediately following the ending of Act 3 and features Emmrich and Amina taking a moment to themselves after all is said and done. Emmrich takes care of his beloved Reaper, and following a brief discussion about their respective plans for the future, she returns the favour.

Rating: Explicit

Under the cut or on ao3:

The roar of victory was a dull thrum that followed them through the ruined streets of Minrathous, part elation that the Elvhen threat had been bested, and partly devastation for the many lives their success had cost. Amina acknowledged every single person she passed by: hugs and handshakes were reciprocated without question, and condolences were extended to the bereaved with all of the dignified sincerity of a Watcher. It took them nearly two hours to make their way to a damaged but still structurally sound estate secured for them by the Shadow Dragons but if asked, Amina would do it all again 

The ornate doors of the manor closed behind them and the cacophony outside was muffled. Amina took two steps into the manor, bent at the waist, and splattered the floor with the contents of her stomach. 

Emmrich was on her in an instant, holding her long black hair aside with one hand and running the other comfortingly down her back.

“What’s happening? What’s wrong with her?” Taash demanded, taking a step forward. Their voice was distant - drowned out by the screeching whine in Amina’s ears.

She felt her legs wobble and give out, her armoured knees colliding roughly with the ground as she threw out a hand to steady herself, barely registering that it landed right in her sick. Everything was too much. Too loud. Too bright. Too… real. It felt like she was being driven out of her own body like a wayward spirit, her essence clinging desperately to whatever it could hold onto that would tether her here. 

Just as distantly, Amina could hear Emmrich respond to Taash but his words were lost on her as she wiped her mouth with the back of her arm and lurched clumsily to her feet.

“Harding - I need to go to her mother–” Her voice broke: she hadn’t had time… she had intended to visit Harding’s mother in person to check in on her in the days following her daughter’s death, but Elgar’nan - and Solas - had made that impossible.

She clenched her teeth at the sensation of hot tears cutting through the accumulation of grime and gore and sweat on her face, snarling defiantly through the deluge of agony crashing through her, breaking her from the inside. 

There’s still work to be done…

She was pulling away from Emmrich, her course uncharted but steadfast as she attempted to draw strength from that agony as she always had: she needed to go. Somewhere. Anywhere. It didn’t matter, as long as she was doing something… as long as she was helping. But no matter how she pulled and tugged, he wouldn’t let her go: slender as Emmrich was, he wasn’t weak by any stretch.

With some effort he managed to put himself in front of her, gold rings clinking against silverite where he gripped her shoulders before pulling her tight against him. 

“Breathe, darling.” He instructed, enshrouding her diminutive frame in his own. “I need you to breathe… can you do that for me?”

She managed an anguished sob in reply but nothing more: any attempt to draw breath was met with unforgiving resistance as her airways slammed shut in seeming rebellion against life itself.

Arrangements need to be made - things need to be taken care of, and I’m the only one left to take care of them… 

“I’ve got you: you’re safe with me.”

More tears rolled down her cheeks as her eyes clenched shut and she forced a thin, ragged inhalation into her lungs.

“Well done, darling.” Emmrich encouraged, ever calm, ever heartening. “Now let’s try for another one, shall we? I’ll do it with you. Let out your breath on the count of three: one… two… three…” 

She felt Emmrich contract against her as he slowly exhaled with her. None of this was new to her: Nevarran breathing techniques were required learning for Watchers. Claustrophobia could present unpredictably, and if one found themselves turned around or overwhelmed in the Necropolis, being able to stay calm was vital to survival.

“Perfect. Now another breath in…” He waited while Amina drew another shaky breath then loosened his hold on her to gently cup her cheek. Within moments she could feel the familiar soothing tingle of Emmrich’s magic coursing intimately through her, seeping through her overloaded nervous system and providing some relief until another horror blundered into her mind with nauseating insistence. 

“Shit.” Her eyes went wide. “Manfred… Emmrich, wh-where is Manfred?!”

“Manfred is perfectly safe,” he soothed, “He’s in the abundantly capable hands of Myrna and Vorgoth for the moment. In fact, before I left, I overheard Myrna explaining to him Karloff’s Five Principles of Ethical Reanimation.”

“Emmrich,” she rasped, clutching at his chest. “I… I need to–”

“Do absolutely nothing.” He interjected sternly, his voice absent of any playful familiarity or scholarly flair, though it softened almost reflexively as he continued. “You’ve overextended yourself, Amina. You’ve been overextended for some time, but you’ve pushed through to see this to the end - and you have - but my love, you can’t evade the reality of what you’ve been through indefinitely… you need to rest and take time to come to terms with things.” He drew his thumb over her cheek, speaking to her like she was the only person in the room.

“But–”

“It’s so incredibly kind of you to want to give your condolences to Lace’s mother in person, but it need not happen this instant. The… actions of the Inquisitor will be communicated to the south in due course.” He hung on the word ‘actions’ seemingly unsure of its accuracy but ultimately too focused on Amina to care enough to select a different one. “You need to rest,” he repeated.

She opened her mouth to argue, but likely having anticipated this from her, Emmrich spoke first.

“You’ve done so much and helped so many without asking for anything in return - please let me be the one to help you now?”

His eyes searched hers, soft and pleading, and she studied the face of the man she loved: each pleasing curve and angle that she had committed to memory etched on her heart. The crinkled lines at the corners of his eyes, and the creases around his familiar mouth spoke of years of smiles offered to comfort and soothe. 

He was filthy too, and his hair was limp and dishevelled, strands of it hanging into his face… but oh Maker how she loved him…

“I love you…” he whispered for her ears alone, his lips ghosting over hers, “And I so look forward to reminding you of that fact every day for the rest of our lives… so let me begin now: let me take care of you.”

She couldn’t bring herself to speak: emotions overwhelmed her capacity for words. The immeasurable highs and lows had won out, capped off on the highest of highs by Emmrich’s solemn declaration: she would never face anything alone again. The fight left her as she closed her eyes and nodded, and this time Emmrich caught her tears and wiped them away. He pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead before turning to the others. 

“She’s in no danger,” he assured them. “The gifts of a Reaper are channelled through a place of deep sorrow and grief where one should not dwell indefinitely: she is merely exhausted, and in light of this ordeal coming to an end, her body and mind are insisting upon rest and recuperation for a time. I shall go with her to find a room and get her settled in.” 

“I’ll scour the pantry.” Lucanis announced without hesitation, already shedding his gore-slicked coat. “A house like this will have a well stocked larder: I cannot do much else to assist, but I will see to it that Rook gets a good meal.” 

“And I’ll find something strong to drink -  I think we could all use one - especially Rook,” Taash volunteered grimly. 

Davrin finished checking over a cut under Assan’s eye, deeming it to be harmless. “Assan can keep her company after I find him something to eat. I’m sure he’d love to cuddle up with his favourite person after a day like today.”

“I’ll make sure word gets around that she’s not to be disturbed under any circumstances - Maker knows there’ll be all kinds of people at the door wanting her attention.” Neve remarked. “She’s in good hands with you, Emmrich. We’ll take care of everything else: you take care of her.” 

Their words echoed in Amina’s mind as Emmrich started to lead her away towards the carpeted stairs. It wasn’t long ago that she would have fought tooth and nail to avoid accepting their help for fear that she didn’t actually deserve it - that she had somehow tricked good-hearted people into thinking that she was worth any amount of concern. But now with this aching, vacuous hole in her chest threatening to devour her from the inside, knowing that she had many sets of arms to fall back into… it meant everything. 

“I love you too,” she said as they walked, the gold rings tied to her boots to alert any nearby spirits of her presence chiming with each tired step. “I love you so much Emmrich, I - I…” Her voice wavered and broke again.

He shushed her gently as they rose the stairs and took her hand in his, bringing it to his lips to place comforting kisses to bloodied and dented metal. “It’s alright, darling. I know… I know.” 

They made it to the landing at the top of the stairs and Emmrich loosened his hand from hers only long enough to gesture through the air, causing the lamps lining the long hallway to illuminate with the familiar and consoling green light of veilfire - it reminded her so much of home… their home.

Meandering down the hallway, they apraised a few rooms - a study and a nursery among them - before finding a well-appointed bedroom near the end of the hall. 

The same veilfire that illuminated the hallway flooded the room with a self-assured wave of Emmrich’s fingers through the air, revealing the gilded frame of the largest four-poster bed Amina had ever seen. 

A modestly sized house would have fit comfortably within the textured red walls of the room, and every square inch was bedecked with glittering opulence and expensive furniture.

What had happened to the people who called this place home? She thought of the nursery, silent and dark, her heart sinking further.

“I know…” Emmrich’s sigh was put-upon. “It’s practically a hovel isn’t it? But our only option currently, I’m afraid.” The corner of his mouth twitched upwards in a wry smile and despite everything, she couldn’t help but smile a little too if only for the fact that his dry humour was at its most uplifting when things seemed bleakest: it was a rarely praised trait of a good Watcher to be able to maintain a sense of humour - sometimes being able to laugh was the only thing that could keep said Watcher sane.

He closed the heavy cherry door behind them softly and turned the latch, his definition of ‘recuperation’ clearly non-negotiable to anyone who found themselves outside of the bedchamber wanting to talk to her.  

The silence was inescapable now, contrasting strongly to the overwhelming chorus of sound she’d been subjected to for hours. It filled her head - made it feel full of cotton - and she frowned, standing perfectly still, observing Emmrich as he hung his staff from the rack by the door and shed his bloodied and tattered coat, hanging it with care before turning to Amina. 

“We need to get you out of that armour.” 

He set his gloves on a nearby console table and rolled up his sleeves, agile fingers performing the task with an ease that suggested he hadn’t personally assisted with the culling of a tyrannical elvhen god today. Amina felt her mouth go dry under his perceiving gaze - she’d taken direct blows from Hurlocks that winded her less than the intensity of those eyes. Overwhelmed and at her wit’s end or not, he was capable of sending something in her soul aflutter even at a time like this… that could only mean that she was still alive, right? That she hadn’t laid the last shred of her own mortal conscience on the pyre in the name of saving what little of Thedas remained to be saved?

She swallowed thickly. “I’m experiencing some sort of deja vu, I think,” she murmured, as he closed the distance between them and began loosening her baldric. “Because I feel like we’ve had this conversation before.”

An amused smile visited his face, his eyes downcast and focused on his task. “We have, haven’t we? I recall that convincing you to allow me to stitch you up on that occasion was also similar to pulling teeth.”

He kissed her again and went back to work, stripping away pieces of moulded metal in silence, shucking away the intimidating, unrelenting shell of a Reaper and exposing the soft, vulnerable person underneath. 

He had made it all the way down to her greaves when she emitted a sharp gasp and clapped a hand over her mouth. 

“My shield! Where’s my shield?!” She twisted in his grasp as if to look around the room for the worn and dented buckler she famously refused to part with. 

Emmrich’s brow furrowed and he worked another strap loose. “It was broken, darling, remember? By Elgar’nan.” 

At his words, the memory rushed back to her: massive fingers curling over the edge of her shield as she held it aloft in the darkness, determined to stand her ground, her body protesting with the sheer effort of keeping her defence up in the looming shadow of her ancient enemy… the sound of metal whining as it bent in that ungodly strong grip and finally shattered…

I dropped it and finished the fight with only my sword and the dagger…

“Oh, right… how silly of me to forget…” she said distantly as Emmrich finished with the greave and rose with a gingerness that at last indicated his own fatigue.

“Details will likely come and go in a disconcerting haze over the coming days.” He parted from her and peered into a secondary room off the one they were in and disappeared into it when it seemed to contain what he was looking for. The sound of running water soon followed and he re-emerged. “Try not to concern yourself with them: they are of little importance right now. You have no need for a shield or sword - we are safe.” He ran a hand down her shoulder affectionately. “I understand that contradicts a large part of your vocational education, but you must trust me. Now if you’ll follow me, we’ll take care of all of that… debris in your hair.”

‘Debris’ was hardly what she would call the grisly amalgamation of fluids and various clumped tissues that would make even the most decay-happy embalmers back home feel squeamish, but Amina took Emmrich’s hand and followed him without complaint.

A gigantic clawfoot tub was filling with water in the middle of the cavernous bathroom, and judging by the calming aroma diffusing through the air, Emmrich had helped himself to some of the scented bath oils that belonged to whomever owned the manor. 

He brought her to the sink and pulled over an upholstered stool from the nearby vanity, placing it in front of the sink and gently directing her to sit, his hand on her lower back guiding her. “The bath will be more relaxing if at least your hair is clean before you get in,” he explained, turning the taps and motioning for her to lean back. 

“Is this supposed to fix things?” Her voice was so quiet and insubstantial over the rushing water - she was surprised Emmrich even heard her as she settled the base of her skull at the rim of the sink basin and he began sweeping her long hair into his hands, wetting it and carefully picking out pieces of marble and bone and viscera as he found them. 

“There is nothing to be fixed, my darling - least of all you, if that’s your primary concern. You know as well as I that our work can be exhausting - mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. It’s why we are well compensated and encouraged to take time away from the Necropolis when we feel we need it. A lesson was learned at some point over the untold years that the Necropolis has existed and people have vowed to serve its departed souls, and that is: one cannot effectively fill the cups of others when their own is dry.” He reached over her and Amina looked up at him, hanging onto his every word. She did know all of this - in fact she’d dispensed similar advice to other Watchers and mourners alike in the past, but… hearing it from someone else… being told that it was alright and that she didn’t have to be strong right now was deeply comforting. “It is not demonstrative of carelessness to the plight of others to think of oneself. I’m of the mind that it’s one of the more selfless virtues a person can aspire to.” 

Amina closed her eyes and sighed, her nose filling with the delicate floral scent of the soap that Emmrich had started methodically working through her hair. “You always know just what to say, don’t you?” 

A tender caress passed over her temple. “I do try. Are you feeling a little bit better? It looks as though some colour has returned to your face.” 

“Now you’re just laying it on thick by implying that my face had any colour to begin with, but yes… I feel steadier, more grounded.” 

“That’s music to my ears, darling,” and indeed Emmrich seemed to sag in relief, his shoulders visibly relaxing as he rinsed away the lathered soap, his touch unerringly mild. Washing the hair of the deceased required a gentle hand - the follicles on the scalp dilated as the skin began to dehydrate in the hours after death, making it easy to accidentally pull out clumps of a decedent’s hair if one handled it too roughly.

So much of the world thought their calling was one of macabre vulgarity when it was actually an ineffable devotion of love and tenderness when it came to the handling of all things… alive or dead.

Excess water trickled down the drain as he wrung out her hair and gestured for her to sit upright with a light touch of his fingers on her shoulder - he was so good at that - so confident in his ability to impart instructions that he didn’t even need words to make his expectation clear. She turned on the seat, putting her back to him so it was easier for him to weave her damp hair into a braid.

She closed her eyes again and a satisfied hum resonated in her chest as slender fingers stroked through her hair, separating it and passing the strands from hand to hand. 

When he was done, he took her hand and helped her to her feet. “I’ll leave you to the privacy of your bath, but I will remain close by: if you require anything at all, my dearest love, just call.” He bowed his head respectfully, his thumb tracing the soft skin at the inside of her wrist before he turned to depart.

“Please stay,” she entreated, locking her fingers between his before he could step out of reach. He halted. “I… I would rather not be alone right now, if it’s alright with you.” 

He lifted their entwined hands and kissed the back of hers. “Of course. In that case, I’ll step out while you make yourself comfortable and will return when you’re ready for me.” 

Ever the gentleman. He clearly wasn’t going to let their passion in the Necropolis the night before get the better of decades of deeply ingrained propriety. She felt her pulse quicken slightly at the fresh memory of their night together and wondered if the invitation to keep her company while she sat naked in a bathtub made his heart pound too, but a wave of shame crashed through her just as quickly, smothering the heat that had started to smoulder in her belly: people were dead, and now was not the time for such thoughts. 

When the door closed behind Emmrich, Amina clambored out of her stiff, smelly clothing, grimacing as she peeled sticky fabric from her skin. She left everything in a heap and nudged it to the other side of the room with her bare foot, wanting to be as far away from the stench as possible. When she was satisfied, she sank into the bathtub, a purely reflexive moan slipping from her lips at the feeling of relief as warm water enfolded aching muscles. The water was almost instantly dirtied, but she didn’t care - it felt amazing. 

“You can come in.” She drew her braid over her shoulder and folded her arms on the porcelain edge of the tub, resting her chin on her hands. Even if it mattered to her there was no need to fear for her modesty: whatever Emmrich had added to the water made it semi-opaque and it looked very pretty in the light of the veilfire.

Emmrich sat on the vanity stool. “How is it, darling?” 

“It’s perfect.” She found his hand with hers again - it seemed she couldn’t bear to be parted from him for long… not when they’d come so close to losing one another.

“You have no idea what a relief that is to hear.” 

Her lips curved into a smile as she studied him silently, turning thoughts and feelings over in her mind. Her heart was heavy, and her body was spent. People had indeed died - tragedy and victory apportioned in equal measure, but Emmrich was right: she had given as much of herself to the cause as she was capable of giving… and then some. There was still work to be done - the restoration of Thedas would be long and difficult. But it was time to rest and take a hard-earned moment of peace for what it was, even though a persistent voice in the back of her mind screamed at her to cease dallying in the bath and get back to work. 

No.

“Would you like to join me?” 

The question was posed such that it caught Emmrich off guard, causing his eyes to widen and a flush of colour to creep over his pallid skin. His mouth hung open slightly.

“J-join you? I can wait until you’re done - that is to say: finished - I would hate to impose, you see–” 

She listened to him stumble over his words, enchanted by his flustered demeanour until she decided it was time to rescue him, and said, “It’s no imposition at all. Besides, if you’re in the same state as I am underneath all those clothes, I suspect you’ve got bits of darkspawn in places where even your flexible limbs can’t reach: a collaborative approach to bathing would serve us best in this situation.” 

Emmrich’s mouth worked soundlessly for a moment. “You make a compelling argument, I admit, but–” 

“We had sex in a coffin under the Necropolis last night because we knew the world might end in the morning, Emmrich - I think it’s fair to say that any notion that this is in any way a traditional courtship has gone out the window.” She reached out and popped loose the topmost button of his shirt. “Besides, the idea of having to wait through an entire courtship before I can have you sounds torturous…” her thumb and forefinger found another button, and he didn’t move to stop her. “I think I prefer our abridged approach, if I’m being honest…” she smirked and went for the third button but he intercepted her, graceful fingers catching her wrist.

“That may be the case, dearest, but I still intend to treat you with the veneration you are owed as my beloved.” 

A shiver ran up her spine - it might have been the sentiment - my beloved - or the fact that it was delivered in a tone half an octave lower than usual. She couldn’t settle on a conclusion, but she felt emboldened regardless.

“Then you can start by getting into this ridiculously large bathtub with me,” she whispered coquettishly, and she followed the path of his hand with her eyes as it released her wrist and drifted to that third button, slipping it free with a practised twist.

She felt herself smile properly for the first time that day as Emmrich disrobed and lowered himself into the water across from her: it was real - he was real - and he wanted her. Wanted her enough to occupy dirty bathwater with her without complaint. 

His legs brushed against hers under the water and she resisted the very compelling urge to launch herself at him just to feel his skin on hers as she had the night before. Instead, she grabbed a bar of soap and a sponge off the tray on the side of the tub and held them up. 

Emmrich tilted his head inquisitively but said nothing: the amused curl of his lips said it all. He turned his back to her and slotted himself between her legs and Amina wet the soap and began wiping away the worst of the dirt from his shoulders and back with the sponge. She took her time, relishing the warmth of him under her fingers as she washed away the remains of the day. 

“So… about those plans you mentioned earlier: care to expand on them?” She ventured. 

She didn’t want to think about today anymore, didn’t want to linger on thoughts of Varric and Harding… those would insist on themselves enough over the coming months as she grieved them, she knew that for certain. Right now turning her mind to thoughts of a future that was almost lost seemed like a better distraction.

Emmrich chuckled warmly, the comforting lilt reverberating around the room. “It’s an extensive list, I’m afraid, too lengthy and detailed to summarise neatly in a few breaths.” She squeezed the sponge and sent a stream of water and suds meandering down his arm, tracing the shape of his sharp angles and lissom composition. “Truth be told, I was actually hoping you might render some assistance.” 

“Oh?”

“As you know, I have pupils awaiting my return to the Necropolis: their studies have been regrettably delayed in my absence, not to mention Manfred will require oversight as he embarks on his own educational journey.” 

“But…”

“I’ve rather enjoyed my time beyond the walls of the Necropolis, and now that I’m not… now that I will most certainly…” He seemed unable to settle on a palatable way to say ‘die’. 

“It’s alright,” she squeezed his shoulder softly. “Go on.” 

“Thank you, dear - it’s only that my priorities have been somewhat reorganised given the revised trajectory of my life: I no longer have a theoretically unlimited amount of time in which to see the world, and I find myself wondering if it would be terribly selfish of me to defer the date of my return for a while longer - take a sabbatical of sorts so that I may continue to experience the wonders of the continent without the looming threat of annihilation… with you, should you wish to accompany me.” He looked over his shoulder at her and Amina wasn’t ignorant of the fleeting glance that wandered down to her soapy breasts, nor the desire that shadowed his eyes at the sight of her pale nipples just peeking over the surface of the water. Oh dear, he was getting distracted…

“Don’t know how much of the continent there is left to see after everything.” She wrung the sponge, making a subtle but very deliberate show of pushing her breasts together with the insides of her arms. Emmrich’s throat bobbed and he seemed to win some inner struggle after a moment and looked forward again. “But yeah… I think a break would do us both some good. Besides, ‘seeing the world’ was what I was supposed to be doing anyway before this nightmare started. I’ll go anywhere with you, Emmrich,” she smiled. “Especially if there’s a beach involved.” 

She scooted closer to him, bracketing him between her thighs, finding his skin with hers as she reached around him to start soaping up his chest. Spurred on by the breathy little gasp he made, Amina continued to wash him, kissing up the line of his neck as she did. 

“What other plans would you like to make with me, darling?” She whispered, softly catching his earlobe between her teeth and earning a tantalising whine for her trouble. 

“At the moment, none that are fit for polite company…”

“Good thing it’s just the two of us then.” She let go of the sponge and dipped her hand beneath the surface of the fragrant water, unable to see, but able to feel her way, fingers dancing over his abdomen, following the neatly tended to strip of hair that started at his navel, down, down, down until she found him - and she found him to be rock hard. 

He moaned in earnest now, his head falling back against her shoulder, hand rising to cup the side of her face as she slowly stroked the length of him, humming contentedly, unable to help herself: she wanted him in her, on her, and around her at all times.

“Care to hear about my plans?” She pressed a kiss to the expanse of skin under his ear. “We can compare notes after.”

“Please,” he breathed, eyes closed, a contented smile spreading across his face - the very definition of the cat that got the cream. 

She drew nondescript shapes on his chest with her fingers, lingering on the patch of hair at his sternum, the bar of soap forgotten and lost to the bottom of the tub. “First on my list when we get out of this bath: I’m going to make love to you - slowly… sweetly.” She drew her lower lip through her teeth at the throb of his cock under her fingers and the shudder she coaxed from him when she ran the tip of her thumb over his slit, feeling the slick texture of his anticipation even in the water. “... and after that, I’m going to do it again, and Maker-willing, a third time after that if I have my way…” 

His eyebrows rose, but his eyes remained shut, one corner of his mouth quirked upwards. “Aren’t we ambitious?” He purred, arcing up into her touch a little. “One can’t help but wonder what you’ll do after that…”

“Oh, find something to eat.” She answered matter-of-factly, entirely at the mercy of the rising heat between her thighs. “I expect I will have worked up quite an appetite, you see.” 

“It’s important to stay nourished,” Emmrich agreed, exhaling deeply as she continued to fondle him under the water. “That feels so good, darling…” 

“Good.” She smiled against his skin and kissed his temple. “Because that’s also part of my plan, broadly speaking: I’m going to make you feel amazing for the rest of our lives, Emmrich. Not a single sun will set on a day where you feel alone: your joys will be my joys, your sorrows my sorrows.”

His eyes opened at that and he regarded her with that soft look of utter adoration that he was so adept at. He stroked her cheek and she nuzzled into his long fingered hand. “My dear… that was quite possibly the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me.” 

“Delivered whilst pleasuring you no less.”

“You are beyond compare, darling Amina.” He sighed and lazily thrust up into her hand again. “And I daresay our respective plans indeed bear many similarities. I would even go so far as to say they align perfectly.” He sat forward and turned so he was face to face with her again, collecting her arms and drawing her close so their noses were almost touching. 

“Lucky me.” 

He traced each vertebrae of her spine with lithe fingers, bangles clinking together as they slipped down his arm one after the other, his hand finding the curve of her rear and drawing their centres even closer together. She positively ached with need for him as he cradled her face and kissed her deeply, unabashedly exploring her mouth and tasting her with a dominance she was not anticipating. When they parted her lips and cheeks were flushed, her pupils blown wide. 

“I’m going to make a home with you, Rook - that is my plan.” 

Amina considered him - his intelligent bottle green eyes inches from hers, their breath shared, their bodies practically flush. Despite how lust-addled her exhausted brain was, tears returned to her, driven by the sheer depth of Emmrich’s ambitions for them: A home. A life together and all that could come with it if she only dared to dream it - her: the Necropolis foundling who never felt like she truly belonged anywhere or mattered to anyone beyond the basic charity of some.

“We need to hurry up and finish with this bath,” she rasped, her voice low to keep it steady. “I need you. I need you now.” She crushed her lips to his hungrily and breathed, “I love you.” 

What immediately followed was a frenzy of soap and bubbles and water splashing over the tile floor as they finished scrubbing each other down with much less sensual flair than before. The plunger was pulled from the bottom of the tub and they towelled off as it drained, pausing intermittently to passionately embrace. 

“I never thought I could be this happy,” she panted, rising on her tip-toes to pepper his jawline with kisses. 

“Nor I,” Emmrich concurred. He turned her head and buried his nose in her neck, sucking a rosy mark onto her skin, unable to help himself as her hands roamed. He snaked his arm around her waist and hoisted her aloft, racing for the bedroom, her legs tight around him, her entire being coursing with the anticipatory thrill of their imminent union. 

He placed her on the bed with a tenderness that contrasted heavily with the urgency of their flight from the bathroom and prowled over the bed towards her, the inherent grace of his body setting her heart aflame as he splayed one hand over her lower belly and slid her leg aside with the other, opening her like the cherished pages of a beloved tome. He looked positively sinful between her legs, his hair dishevelled and dripping rivulets of water down his neck and shoulders. 

Her breath hitched at the feeling of his lips against her, the soft tickle of his moustache over the sensitive skin at the peak of her thighs. “Ohhh…”

His eyes were locked on hers. He parted her with his fingers, dipped his head, and —

Thump-thump-thump.

Of course there was someone at the door. 

Amina heaved a massive sigh and dragged her hands through her hair in exasperation. She’d seen Emmrich annoyed before - or at least she thought she had - but the look on his face now was one of primly murderous intent: the face of a man whose nearly boundless patience was being sorely tested in this moment. The expression softened, though, when he looked back to her and said, “I’ll see to it, darling - I shan’t take long.” He placed his lips sweetly against her swollen bud - a parting kiss - before sliding from the bed. 

He quickly donned an elegant paisley dressing gown that he snatched from the wardrobe, and Amina knew he would never have considered helping himself to someone else’s things under normal circumstances, but his clothes were in a filthy heap on the bathroom floor, and while they had all grown quite close during their time together, Emmrich preferred to keep some things private. 

She propped her head on her hand and stifled a giggle as he walked past a shelf, flung out an arm, grabbed a book without looking, and arranged it in front of him in such a way that it concealed his prominent arousal. She couldn’t tell who was outside as he opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, so she let her head fall to the pillow and rolled onto her back. It was a very comfortable bed: soft pillows, expensive linens.

Terribly comfortable. 

Weeks of broken sleep caught up with her all at once as she fought to keep her eyes open: she was so tired all of a sudden. 

So incredibly, inescapably tired…

If Lucanis had drawn any conclusions about the reason for his state of dress or his wet hair, he kept them to himself but for the briefest arching of a brow as he handed Emmrich the tray of toasted cheese sandwiches and bid him a long and restful night of sleep. Emmrich wished him the same and watched the Crow disappear back down the stairs before retreating into the room and locking the door again.

“Lucanis managed to scrape together–” he looked towards the bed and paused: Amina was sleeping soundly on top of the comforter, her face peaceful and unvexed: a rare sight indeed. Something in his chest pulled as he watched her even, deep breaths, her mouth slightly open as she slumbered. 

He set down the sandwiches and the book very carefully on the console table, not daring to make any noise that might startle her awake before making his way over to the bed and positioning her under the blankets with the same amount of care, manoeuvring her battered and scarred legs so she was covered and warm.

She had such plans for the evening, but as he shed the dressing gown and slipped into the bed alongside her, he was grateful that she had found rest at last: they had the rest of their lives to make love.

The veilfire light in the room was snuffed with a wave, and as he curled around her in the dark, losing himself in the scent of her, he found his own respite in the rhythm of her heart beneath his hand and the unpromised gift of tomorrow. 

[sunflowersinthedirt]

NOW AND THEN | GEORGE HARRISON 🌻

You love sunflowers and George miss you.

Angst (i’m a sad person), mentions of grief, angry issues. May have some sensitive topics to some readers.

English is not my first language and gifs are not mine.

1995: Summer.

Ringo and Paul were playing their ukuleles and conversing in the company of their respective wives. They were almost oblivious to George's presence in that vast garden. Today was a delicate day; they were finalizing the recordings for the Anthology documentary, and talking so much about John left Geo with a bittersweet (or rather, sour) taste in his mouth.

George was one of the few who didn't get to make amends with John before he passed away, and today, despite the sunny atmosphere, George was gloomy and quieter than usual. He was feeling nostalgic. He had remembered things that made him happy but at the same time, saddened him.

It was when he thought of you, looking at the sunflower garden he had planted, that the memories came flooding back. George walked over there, struggling against the feeling of sadness that seemed to take over and fill his chest. He had no idea he was being watched by Olivia and Dhani, who knew about his devotion to those flowers more than anyone. What they didn't know was the reason Geo loved sunflowers so much.

1967:

— Look, me nails and clothes are full of dirt! — Said the girl, laughing and showing her hands. — Only you'd be able to see me all dirty like this.

George laughed.

— I'm worse than you. — He said, getting up from the flowerbed and helping her up. He clapped his legs to get the excess dirt off his hands and clothes, making himself even dirtier. — And you're the prettiest girl covered in dirt I've ever seen. — He confessed, with a cheeky smile.

The girl shook her head.

— Please, love... — She laughed. — You're bein' too nice to me.

He took her in his arms. Neither of them caring that they were dirty with soil in the middle of that garden.

— You know you're gorgeous no matter what. — he said, kissin' her lips. — Thank you for helpin' me take care of this garden. And thank you for lookin' after it when I'm not around.

She smiled and felt her face warm with all the adoration and courtship from the dark-haired man.

— You know I love this garden. Takin' care of it is a way for me to ease the missin' I feel for you when you're gone. — She confessed, George's eyes staring into yours like he wanted to capture every detail of you at all once. You were, without a shadow of a doubt, the most beautiful woman George had ever seen.

You were beautiful because you were you. In your simplicity, in your little mannerisms, in the way you walked... George loved everything about you and wished he could keep you like a porcelain doll so nothin' would ever harm you.

— And I took the liberty of plantin' some sunflowers here. Don't get me wrong, I love orchids, but sunflowers will always be my favorites. — She commented. The warm wind blowing through her long hair made George pull a few strands away from her face.

— They're lovely, darling. I loved them. They made the garden more colorful. — He said. The girl smiled.

— Sunflowers are happy flowers to me. I love them. — She confessed, looking at the flowerbed. She was proud of her work. — And if I ever die, I want you to bring me sunflowers every year. Wherever I am, I'll be happy...

George's smile faded at his beloved's request. It was sudden, a happy moment turned into a melancholy mess in an instant. She was like that: very honest. Not that George wasn't aware that people could die, after all, he had already lost someone that year: his manager, Brian. He and the rest of the band were still stunned by the untimely death of someone as passionate about life as Brian.

— Y/N... — He took a deep breath, stepping away from her touch. He was tough enough not to want to cry in front of her. He didn't like thinking about the possibility of losing her one day. He'd rather go first than see the woman he loved leave forever. — I-I... I think that's a rather morbid wish, don't you think?

The girl shook her head.

— I think it's the sentence we all carry — She concluded. — I'm sorry if I touched on a sensitive subject for you.

— It's alright. — It wasn't. — We need to take a bath and get all this dirt off us.

He changed the subject and took her by the hands so quickly into the house that she didn't have time to breathe and tell him what had been bothering her. Not that she wanted to tell him, knowing that George would do everything he could to take that away from her and that would cost him a lot.

Four months later:

She was sick and no one knew except John, her best friend. When George received that phone call at the studio, something inside him knew it wasn't good news. Although the news hit him like a speeding car, he couldn't feel anything about the fact that you had told John and not him that you were in the terminal phase. The electric guitar fell from his hands, making a loud noise that pierced the acoustic walls of the studio. He wanted it all to be just a nightmare.

He blamed himself a lot. It was obvious that her thinness wasn't normal, but he was so busy with the recordings of the White album that he was living on autopilot. He fought with John. He wanted to punch John.

He wanted to hold back his tears, he didn't want to yell at one of his best friends... But John knew George had been holding back his tears since Brian's death. It was George who held down the fort with the media when Brian died because John couldn't speak.

And losing you was unbearable... And when he remembered that you had asked him to bring you sunflowers, he wanted to tear out every single flower from that garden and set it on fire.

For the first time, gardening had become a distaste for him. Geo was immensely devastated. He swallowed his pride, made peace with John, and asked his friend to accompany him on your wake. George wanted to fulfill your last request despite all the anger and sadness bottled up in his chest about those "damned flowers."

And so, every year... He brought you sunflowers. He would plant a flowerbed on your grave if it would bring you back.

Present: 1995, Summer.

George sighed. His chest seemed full of that anguish from the past, and to remember you and John now with a bitter taste in his mouth was devastating. He put on a brave face. Mentally, he made a small prayer that your spirits could find the peace you so sought in life. George had married someone he liked, had a beautiful family, but you never left Geo's heart and Friar Park. There was a part of you there, and it was those vibrant yellow flowers.

— Sunflowers are happy flowers to me. I love them.— He remembered what you had said. He no longer hated them because they were a sweet reminder of you. It was the color that was missing from his life, and in a way, it was there, almost spiritually cheering him up.

George wiped away the tears with the sleeve of his jacket, which by this point had already flooded his eyes, making his vision blurry.

— I will always love you. — He said to himself, hoping that you, Brian, and John could hear him wherever you were.

[the-autistic-vulcan]

They Called It Puppy Love: Headcanons (Simu!Ken x Shy!Reader)

Request: Hello 💕 I wanna request a Simu!Ken please - Simu!Ken (Barbie) where he's dating a new Barbie shyreader and Barbies & Kens find it adorable that Simu!Ken follows her like a lost puppy and just deeply in love with her, please?

Genre: Fluff

Description: Headcanons for Ken and a timid s/o

a/n: he's so cute <3

Pre-Relationship:

Upon knowing of Ken's existence in Barbieland, there was a definite: He was a damn show-off

And a cute one on top of it - and that did annoy you

You were a lesser know Barbie that was released and, let's say, didn't fly off the shelves

You were pretty happy in your own little corner by the library and you always kept to yourself

Ken noticed you...eventually

It was another perfect day in Barbieland, you were simply walking on the pier near the beach, your eyes down and not making any move to speak to people

Then he saw you, the beachball bounced off of his head in an instant

He found it quite cute that you were doing anything to avoid talking to people, so, he did what he did best - showed off his beach skills

And with enough oomph in his step, you finally looked up and saw

His smile beaming with comfidence

Was that a wink? Hell yeah!

Your face was bright red, your palms sweaty, your breath quickened - *in squidward's voice* OH NO HE'S HOT!

He then approached you after to talk to you

"Hi, hi there, I'm Ken - you know, from beach?"

"Yeah, I know..."

It may have been only a few sentences after and then he asks

"Do you, uh...do you know how to play volleyball?"

"...No, I'm, um, I'm not a Beach Barbie..."

"Huh...can I teach you?"

And the rest is history

In Relationship:

He follows you around

Not in a 'ooo I like here, let me invade her privacy' kind of way

But he follows you like a lost puppy - all bright-eyed, a big smile on his face and not so subtly praising you for the bare minimum

Like, you could be doing the most basic thing like reading and he's just looking at you with heart eyes

Dates usually consist of watching him do beach things like volleyball, surfing and such

But that doesn't mean he won't do anything else

One of your favourite things to do is to simply sit in silence, enjoying the company of someone else

That soon became a mandatory ritual for the both of you

He calls you "baby, love, sweetie, darling", like, all the basic ones

He also is a GOD at respecting boundaries when they're put in place

He is a touchy-feely guy and he likes to hold you in any way he can and any time he can

But if you quietly tell him 'no', he will immediately move away

But if you're craving a little extra touch, he's more than happy to oblige

This was adorable! Anything you wish to request, go to my inbox!

Please like and reblog! Do not pass this as your own.