#the only thing I like about this is the cuffs and the eyes highlights

[maareyas]

sometimes a painting doesn't turn out the way you want to and you just gotta move on. anyways I submerged the boy in water (again)

[zhongrin]

zhongrin © 2024 ❥ do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or feed into ai.

muzzled.

featuring... ❥ wriothesley

involves... ❥ afab!reader, fem!reader, muzzle, restraints, teasing (reader → wrio), feral!wrio, sweet & degrading petnames used, mentioned collar & leash at the end, not proofread

wriothesley was starting to regret agreeing to this.

the thing is, you’d lit up like a christmas tree as soon as he nodded, and the way your hooded eyes coupled with your signature cheeky grin were intoxicating in itself. he couldn’t help but growl from behind the muzzle you’d fixed around his mouth - that wasn’t part of the agreement, but it seemed like you, like the impudent-yet-endearing individual that you were, had planned this from the start.

“you look so good like this, wrio~” you hum, now stepping closer to tap on the black metal, crooning as if you were talking to an adored pet, “and now you can’t use those teeth to bite me, pup.”

he growled. the cuffs - his handcuffs, the one he always carried around - jangled behind him as he tried to move his limbs out of habit. part of him burned when you treat him like this. it was both pleasant yet humiliating, arousing and infuriating, to be reduced to a tamed dog, chained to its place.

your boyfriend received an amused chuckle from you. wriothesley’s eyes sharpened, his thighs flexing when he felt your weight descend upon him, sitting across his lap as if you belonged there. which you did. and he would have welcomed you with kisses and his arms wrapping around your waist if he weren’t in such… predicament.

seriously, why did he agree to this, again?

the man watched intently as you slowly traced the hard planes of his muscles highlighted by the black bodysuit, the heat and tension of being unable to grab and hold you driving him mad by each second. all he could imagine was him flipping your position, holding your body against him, and—

“you drive me crazy whenever you wear something like this, you know?” his thoughts halted from your words, breath hitching as he felt your hand grope and kneaded against his pecs.

“truly, sweetheart? more than when i’m naked?” though his voice strained, he challenged, cocking an eyebrow up as his lips tugged into a boyish smirk.

you huffed and punished him with a hand coming down to rest against his inner thigh, so close and yet so far from his growing excitement, the bulge evident against the dark grey pants. “still cheeky? i’ll have to remind you that you’re currently under my mercy.”

“only because of these blasted restraints and goddamn muzzle, doll,” the gravel in his voice deepened the timbre of his voice, causing an involuntary shudder to run up your spine, “the moment i get out, you know who’ll be under whose mercy.”

“ohhh? then you better work hard~” you sang, leaning in unabashedly to lick and nibble on his neck. a rewarding groan from your boyfriend was all it took for you to start to earnestly mark his skin, red-purples blooming on the exposed part of his neck and shoulder. the fact that you couldn’t mark his favorite spot - the junction of his neck - was both a blessing and a curse to wriothesley. he had half a mind to beg you to rip his accursed bodysuit off somehow, though he knew it would be hard to do considering the situation.

his wrists strained against the metals, a hiss escaping through his clenched teeth. you eyed his escape attempt in amusement, withdrawing from his neck only to place your lips near the base of his ear, “aww, poor puppy… bet you never thought your cuffs would be used against you, huh? or have you thought about it before? naughty, naughty…”

“shut up,” he shivered, wishing he could turn and shut you up with a deep kiss, but this stupid contraption—

a strangled groan of your name left his throat, his thighs twitching when your hand on his thigh moved to cup his bulge, fondling softly from behind the clothing, “fuck, shit-”

yet as soon as it started, it ended. wriothesley subjected you to a fiery frustrated glare by his icy cold eyes; you were truly going to be the death of him at this rate.

“you fucking brat.”

the nickname shot a rush of desire into your core. you knew you were succeeding in riling him up in that direction when the sweeter petnames were replaced with that kind of filth.

you wanted him feral, and it seemed like you were getting your wish if you could keep this up.

“who, me?” you giggled, knowing it would irate him further, “oh, but i’m just getting started, darling.”

you shifted to face him directly, completely straddling him on his chair. the lust-filled eyes of your lover were affixed on you, unable to tear away as your hands moved to unbutton the blouse you had; one button at a time, slowly exposing more and more skin. with every inch revealed, you watched as his adam’s apple bob, his eyes dilating, breathing visibly picking up when he realized you had opted out of wearing a bra today. shakily, momentarily, his gaze dropped lower to your skirt. what if.

“like what you see?” his vision shifted back to your face at your taunt. with all the buttons off, the cloth slipped down your shoulders until you maneuver it to drop onto the ground.

“you… naughty, evil, teasing-” his words died on his tongue when your hands - oh how pretty they would look cupping around his cock - moved themselves up your ribs to cup your breasts. your dainty fingers fail to appreciate them fully, in his opinion; unable to hold the soft plumpness properly, too small to knead properly. it should have been his hands, massaging and making you moan and writhe. should have been his calloused fingers that flicked your pert nipples, making you whine needily and tremble like that.

“unlock the cuff,” he gruffly ordered, chains clinking loudly as he tried to pull and tug against them, “right now.”

you tilted your head, pausing to bat your eyelashes innocently at him. you had no idea how much he wanted to see those pretty lashes wet with tears as he bit and mark and fondle your skin all over right now. oblivious to the picture he had on his head, where he held you down and pinned you on the bed as he ravaged you senseless.

instead of giving him salvation, you gave him sin. more of sinful provocation; your moans loud, one of your hand slowly trailing down your abdomen to slip beneath your skirt. the fact that he could picture your finger gathering slick from your slit, delving into your folds to then rub your swollen clit with your abundance of slick — yet being unable to witness the sight obscured by the stupid piece of clothing, was maddening. a crime, even.

did you have to slip your hand beneath your panties? or did you also decide to forego them just like you did with your bra? and did you have to moan so prettily while looking directly at him like that?

“damn it- you unfair little-!”

his cock was straining so hard against his pants, it hurt. you hummed, both amused and aroused at the words falling from his lips and the loud creak and clang of metal chains and wooden chair scraping against the floor. you knew he wanted to touch and taste you, you knew he was going to devour you if you kept this on. you knew you probably should stop teasing him so cruelly like this.

you waited for a particular word to slip out of his lips — the word that would stop your little game altogether.

but only curses and snarls left your lover’s lips, and you relished in the pure, unfiltered want on his expression. your fingers delved into your sopping cunt, a breathy moan and a shudder racking through your body as you pleasured yourself on top of his lap, slick dripping to stain his pants.

wriothesley’s breaths were ragged and loud, his jaw locked and clenched, eyes shifting between your expression, the hand fondling your breast and perked nipple, the way your other hand moved beneath the skirt— it was all too much, too much—

you gave him a knowing, sultry smile, and he could swear he entered some kind of hypnotic daze as you pulled your hand away from under the flimsy skirt, your dainty digits covered in wetness. his mouth opened automatically, tongue out as he tried to inch forward, chasing the honeyed treat.

the metal muzzle tapped against your fingers, just as your kind smile turned mischievous.

wriothesley

snaps.

you didn’t realize the chains broke until your vision shifts, your center of gravity thrown off balance. your back slammed against the hard surface of his desk, your breath stolen out of your lungs as you lost your bearings, confusion flooding your mind. you’d barely realized what had happened when you felt your skirt ripped away, your legs pushed apart and your knees kissing your ears before your beloved’s cock plunged into the wet, sopping heat. eyes rolling to the back of your head, your back arched as he started rutting, sparks of pleasure blooming rapidly in your senses.

wriothesley couldn’t even spare a moment to talk as his hips moved so deliciously, the hardened cock dragging against your spongy walls with vengeance. this was what you’d reduced him to: a mindless, ruthless beast only caring to take and take and take, after finally having the prey you bared and dangled in front of him. preys shouldn’t have taunted their predators, but you went ahead and did it anyway.

“w-wrio- oh- f-fuck-”

a deep snarl, and the hands you tried to reach out to touch him slammed back down on the desk. you inhaled shakily and almost moaned outloud just from the sight of him on top of you, still muzzled, silver blue eyes glaring down at you. untamed and feral, the merciless slam of his hips continued, blunt head reaching into the deepest part of your pussy as it convulsed around him. the sounds of your coupling filled the room, and your mind melted from the onslaught of pleasure, senses succumbing to the carnal lust you’ve inflicted upon your lover.

amidst the feral snarls and mind-numbing oxytocin, you barely heard his voice, panting and rough with unbridled need, “gonna cum,” the grip on your hands moved onto your hips, keeping you in place as the brutish thrusts started to turn uncoordinated, “gonna breed this perverted pussy. it’s what you wanted, isn’t it? you wanted to be fucked stupid like this? huh?”

broken moans left your throat, head spinning as the arrhythmical slaps of his hips against yours brought you teetering towards the precipice of euphoria. it took all you could to nod in agreement, and wriothesley’s smirk widen, a pleased growl reverberating within his throat as he felt his cock throb, ropes of sticky cum flooding into your deepest part. the warmth flooding into you triggered your own climax, spongy walls clamping down to milk him within the tight channel.

you exhaled shakily, quivering as the intense orgasm left you sensitive all over, body tingling as it relaxed, limp against the hard surface of his work desk. wriothesley panted on top of you, his breathing heavy and almost strained as his smouldering eyes saw your boneless body under him.

he bent down, and you would have thought he was about to kiss you if not for the contraption obscuring his mouth—

“you didn’t think that was enough for that stunt you pulled on me, did you, brat?”

your breath hitched as he ripped away the metal muzzle off his mouth, flexing his jaw and massaging the red imprint it made onto his skin. he dangled the item above you, eyes hooded and dark and mean.

“this time, why don’t i let you wear this? i already have a collar and a leash prepared for you to match, after all.”

❥ banner picture © nqrse ー hoyofair 2024

[jewishvitya]

Haaretz did this:

The full thing is under the cut, in case this link is paywalled for other people. The actual text has blocked out portions as well, to highlight what it's like to report on cases of administrative detention.

Highlights:

Like all administrative detention hearings, it was held in-camera, to obscure the fact that detainees' lawyers do their job without access to the facts of the case. Even the few details that are not secret are prohibited for publication. The administrative detention order was approved in full for a period of six months

And

In the past, it was considered, at least officially, a measure reserved for the most extreme of cases. This hypocritical position has always been false, but now there is no longer any need to save face. According to the Israeli army's own data, almost 5,000 arrests were made in the West Bank in the past eight months. These are very conservative numbers, as they don't include the many thousands arrested and released without being indicted.

The data shows that administrative detention, this so-called extreme of extremes, is now the norm. According to Israeli Prison Service numbers, Israel now holds 7016 people who have not yet been convicted in its jails – either awaiting trial or under administrative detention. Of these, 4,299 – more than 60%! – are held without charge or trial. And all that is without saying a single word about the torture, hunger and humiliation to which all Palestinian prisoners held by Israel are subjected these days.

Administrative detention is based on secret suspicions, secret evidence and no charges being brought. To conceal its inherent absurdity, hearings are held in-camera and away from the public eye. As such, even the little that is revealed to the defense remains prohibited for publication.

On the morning of October 29, after a short farewell to his wife Nariman and their kids, Bassem Tamimi left his home in the West Bank village of Nabi Saleh, north of Ramallah, and started heading east toward the Allenby Bridge. He was on his way to visit relatives in Jordan he had not seen in a long time. A little after 11 A.M., Nariman received a message saying, "The secret police asked for me. I'll write when it's over." And then, shortly after 3 P.M., a call: "I am being arrested. They're coming to take the phone. Have to go. Bye."

This, unfortunately, was not Bassem's first encounter with Israeli law. His village, Nabi Saleh, has waged a multi-year campaign of civil resistance against land grabs and settlement expansion. As a prominent activist, he was incarcerated repeatedly for his role as a protest leader, part of Israel's attempt to quell dissent.

In the evening, the phone rang again. The woman on the line introduced herself, saying she lived in Silwan and was currently at the Hadassa hospital in Jerusalem. She then went on to say that Bassem was there, surrounded by soldiers. He was taken there after his blood pressure soared dangerously. Nariman could faintly hear Bassem's voice over the line saying, "I'm fine, don't worry, everything's good." After a few more hours, at night, that same woman sent a picture of Bassem in the ER, undergoing a checkup; his hand bound with ziptie cuffs. That was the last time Nariman heard from him. Save for a single short lawyer visit before Eid al-Fitr in April, no one has been in contact with him since.

Four days after his arrest, police ████, ████ ████: "███████ ███ ████ █████ ███ ████████, ██████, █████? "███████ ███ ██████: "████ ███ ██████." And that was that. Eight days later – the maximum time afforded to the authorities by article 33 of Israel's military law in the West Bank before a detainee must be presented before a judge (who also is a soldier in uniform) – a six-month administrative detention order was issued, which did not suggest any specific allegations, but rather only a very general statement regarding ███████ ██ █ ███████ .

Eleven more days later, the Kafkaesque proceedings of judicial review over the order took place. Some of it was held ex-parte between the soldier-judge and the Shin Bet. Like all administrative detention hearings, it was held in-camera, to obscure the fact that detainees' lawyers do their job without access to the facts of the case. Even the few details that are not secret are prohibited for publication. The administrative detention order was approved in full for a period of six months, until April 28.

Administrative detention, however, is not really bound by the limits of time, and can be extended indefinitely. And indeed, as the six months passed, a new six-month order was signed, citing the same meaningless cause of ██████ ████ █ ██████ ██ █. This time however, and unlike the state of affairs in almost any other administrative detention case, the defense had a pretty good insight into the details of the case. Administrative detention is such a mundane phenomenon in Israeli military courts, that , , , .

A few hours prior to Bassem's arrest, Israeli forces arrested █████ █ ████ █ ██████ ███ █████ █ ████████ ███ ███, Bassem's friend from their days together in Israeli jail at the beginning of the millennium. Then too, under administrative detention. ██████ ███ █████ █ ███ ████ ███ ███ ██████ █ ██ █████ █ ███ █████ ███ ███ █ ███ ███ ████, █ ████ ███ ███ ████ ███ ████ █ █ ███ █████ ██ ██ ██ ██ ███ ████ █ ███ █████ ███ ███ █████ ███ ████ █ ███. █████ ███ ███ █████ ███ █████ █ ███, █████ ███ ███ ███ ███ ███ █████ █ ████ ███ ███ ████ ███ █████? █ █████ ██ ███ ███. ██ ███ ██ ███ █ ██ █████ ███ ███ ██████ ███ █████ █ █████ ███ ███ ██████ ███ █████.

█ ████ ███ ███ ███ █████ ███ █████ █ ████ ████ ███ ███ ████ ███ █████ █ ████ ██ ███, ██████ ███ █████ █ ███ ████ ███ ███ ████ ███ █████ █ ██ ███ ███ ███ ███ ██ ███ ███ █ "██████ ███ ███ ████ ███ ████ █ ██████ ███ ███? █████ ███ █████ █ ████ ███ ███ █████ ███ ████ █ ███████ ███." ███ ██████ ███ ████ █ ███ ███ ███ ██ ███ █████ █ ██████ ███ ███ 25 ███ ██ █████ █ ███████ ████, long after the administrative detention order against Bassem was reviewed and approved by the court, ██████ was unconditionally released.

On his release, ██████ contacted Nariman and told her what had happened, thinking that his release must also mean Bassem should soon follow. This is how the defense learned the details it knows, and not through discovery by the prosecution. Even though there is no gag order on ██████ ██████'s case, discussing its details in conjunction with Bassem's administrative detention is prohibited for publication. Despite everything that was revealed – and that is the nature of administrative detention: there can always be more hidden evidence, secret, almost mystical – Bassem is still being held under administrative detention even now. Almost two weeks after the hearing, ███ █ ██ ██████ ██████ ████████ █████ █ █████ █ █████, the judge partially confirmed the second administrative detention order against Bassem in violation of military law provisions, ████████ ████ █ ███ █ ███████ ███ █ ████████.

Like Bassem, thousands more are held captive by Israel under administrative detention. In the past, it was considered, at least officially, a measure reserved for the most extreme of cases. This hypocritical position has always been false, but now there is no longer any need to save face. According to the Israeli army's own data, almost 5,000 arrests were made in the West Bank in the past eight months. These are very conservative numbers, as they don't include the many thousands arrested and released without being indicted.

The data shows that administrative detention, this so-called extreme of extremes, is now the norm. According to Israeli Prison Service numbers, Israel now holds 7016 people who have not yet been convicted in its jails – either awaiting trial or under administrative detention. Of these, 4,299 – more than 60%! – are held without charge or trial. And all that is without saying a single word about the torture, hunger and humiliation to which all Palestinian prisoners held by Israel are subjected these days.

[khuzena]

Waiting room

Pairing: Dr ratio, Aventurine, Sunday x g/n!reader

Summary: You can love, get on your knees and wait on a miracle. There are things that are for you and aren't for you, you should know. It's for the better.

Cw. Heavy angst, no comfort, 1% fluff, manipulative men, toxic relationships, insecurities, death?, unrequited love, breakups, them neglecting you cos…, no closure, what is love?

A/n: hi, time to make you cry. I'm getting writer's block as I'm making a new novel!! It has the ‘your guardian angel’ fics plot but w my characters. 🥳

Dr ratio

He's a simple man, really.

Drown yourself in endless textbooks, advanced literature and neglect every other thing.

Like his thirst for knowledge; love is endless, affection is abundant.

Is what you initially thought.

It has been the 4th time this week that he turned down your requests, “Dear, you know I have no time for that.”

He does not try to sugarcoat his words, he does not try to make his tone less harsh, “I don't have time for dates, such a waste of time.'' He says it like it is, he says it like it's true.

Your eyebrows creased, annoyed at his flippant attitude, “What do you mean waste of time?”

Veritas takes one glance at you, then back to his nonsense book. To him, it was useless wasting his breath on arguing with you.

“Veritas, you said we'll go, you promised.”

He is cruel, his words flinty. “I do not recall making any atrocious promises to you, are you perhaps going insane?”

Insane?

“Insane? Last week, you promised me.”

“I did not.”

“Yes you did.”

He scoffs, as if offended, “If I did, then I was not thinking straight. I have a thesis due tomorrow. A date can wait.”

Veritas is a man with priorities and out of all of them, it seems, you were not one of them. He'd rather his books kept him company, not you. It's obvious, his pursuit of knowledge was greater than loving you.

He lit his lamp, taking his pen and highlighting some paragraphs, what was so important with them? You could not help but come closer, skimming through the contents, it was just some theory some genius society member wrote.

“You're miserable,” it might've accidentally slipped out, but it was true; he is, in fact, the most miserable of all men.

Veritas rolled his eyes, pushing his reading glasses and annotating whatever statement was written. The candle light flickered when his heavy breaths fanned over it, not paying mind to whatever you say.

Your patience was thinning, how long was he planning to play this damned game?

“Veritas.”

You call out once.

“Veritas!”

Again, in anger.

“Veritas”

The last time, desperately.

He does not respond, he does not care. Yet your voice was ringing in his ears in an unpleasant way, “Is this about the date?”

You were taken aback by his curt reply, it wasn't just about the date. “Is that all? Do you think that's the only reason?”

“Hypothetically speaking, yes.”

“Cut the bullshit, veritas.”

Veritas glares at you, as if making a statement; a bullshit one at that. He does not have time for mindless topics, he's overworked, he's tired, he's unsatisfied.

For a moment, you have the urge to yell at him. This shallow bastard has done nothing but fool you with aureate words, he writes poetry about you and shows you off.

He loves you because you are all he has. He may be an asshole but he loves you the way he knows how to love you.

Tonight, however, you are done with his bullshit. You do not argue further, he is confused. When you leave this room with no more qualms, when you do not scream at him, he is bewildered.

“Where are you going?” It's strange that he noticed you for the first time. Only when you get dressed up and when he hears the keys jingle, does he notice every single detail.

You adjusted the cuffs of your blouser, “I'm staying at a friend's”

“Which one?”

“None of your business.”

Stunned, he drops his pen. Why are you acting so off? You're driving him insane.

“What do you mean none of my business? Stop acting so childish.”

That was your last straw, childish? Childish? The fucking audacity.

“You are more childish.”

“How so?”

“You— do I even have to explain it?”

Nothing could quell your frustration other than being away from him for the meantime, “Yes,” he loves you, he wants to know. But even if he does, he never learns; so much for a genius.

“You neglect me, you prioritise this,” it was tempting to crumple his papers, “—over me.” So you did.

He is indifferent. He does not understand how and why it hurts you. So he tries to understand it from a logical standpoint, “So you want to really go on that date?”

“I'm tired of asking”

Tired of begging him to treat you right, to love you like you want him to love you.

He stays quiet.

“I'm tired of begging for something so small.”

“You didn't have to destroy my goddamn book,” he seethed and pulled the book from your hands, too absorbed in the damage of the book he does not notice how much he has damaged you. Veritas is too blind to see you holding back tears despite wearing his glasses.

The force surprised you, “Is that thing much more important?”

“What?”

“Answer me Veritas Ratio.”

It was merely just a book, but it was precious. It was a rare one, it annoyed him to immeasurable depths when you crumpled it so recklessly.

He does not answer.

“I'm leaving,” he's not sure if leaving meant temporarily, he hopes it is. He hopes you come back again tomorrow night.

So he waits. Tomorrow came, but you did not come home.

Aventurine

He loves you, he really does.

His idea of love is adorning you with jewels, showering you with riches.

Too much that you suffocate, it hurts. You can't breathe, soulless eyes stare into yours.

It's when you realise, he's trapping you. Does he think you're stupid? What does he take you for?

“Darling! I got you a gift!”

The 22nd one this week… Aventurine makes haste and runs behind you, wearing the necklace on you, it looks… okay.

You look like a doll, his doll.

But you are not a doll, you are human.

And like all humans, we all wish to be loved and cherished as an equal.

“Do you like it?” It would be rude to say no, but it does not fit you. Sure it accentuates your neck, but it's too much.

“I…” you traced your finger over the gem, “I do.”

“Great! I'll get you another tomorrow!” It is tiring. As much as planets worth of gold and extravagant jewels excite you, you would rather be in his presence.

You do not recall the last day he's ever taken you out on a proper date, you do not recall any time where he's been open to you about his past because you know damn well his name could never just be ‘Aventurine’.

You were sitting on the couch, sipping tea with your eyes glued to your book. Before you knew it, soft lips grazed on your cheek.

“You're back earlier than expected,” he smiles as he pressed another kiss onto you, “I ditched the meeting, for you.”

Oh how you hate it when he does things in your name just to make you indebted to him. Aventurine loves you, but love is transactional.

“Is that so?” He nods, wrapping his arms around you. “I'll buy you something again, we have another business trip in Penacony.”

It makes you wonder, does he think gifts are the only thing that'll make you stay?

He could see the reluctance in your eyes, “Is something on your mind?”

You bit your lip, “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.”

A deafening silence fills the room before he chuckles, he is everything but stupid. He knows, he knows you want to spend time with him, he knows you’d incinerate those gifts in a heartbeat just to trade even an hour spending time with him.

“Dear, I promise, next time,” he pressed light kisses on your exposed shoulder, but it isn’t enough: what truly is enough?

You want to push him away, with how ruthless he is with making empty promises so easily, “You said ‘next time’ last time.”

”I promise, I do.” Even he sounds unsure. You pick up on the hint of hesitation laced in his promises, he regrets it, but he thinks; he’s doing it for you, for the both of you.

“You said that too last month,” you scoff.

He tried to intertwine your fingers together yet to no avail, you rejected him, “Why are you acting up again?”

There’s only so many gifts can buy but he can never purchase the time lost that could’ve been spent in lazy mornings together yet he traded it all for credits. The second attempt, he forces a smile and even pulls a tiny ring for you, that gem you loved so much engraved in the centre. Words cannot express how much you despise these gifts because it was just a pathetic compensation for the neglect.

”Please, next month.” He took your hand in his and put the ring on your ring finger. “Okay?”

You cling to that possibility, to that sliver of hope when he is done with Penacony, he is relieved of his duties and he is finally free. That he no longer has to overcompensate for his absence and shower you with the time he’s lost.

You know next month won’t come, yet you are no different from a fool.

”Okay”

You wait upon endless tomorrows, two months have passed and none of his coworkers have any good news about his well-being. They’re sure he’s dead, but you still wait for that tomorrow where he is home to come.

Sunday

Love, what truly is love?

Is it when you praise your lover with endless ‘I love you’s?

Is it when you hold their hand and protect them for the impending doom to come?

or rather, is love just a fallacy built on a string of lies?

Sunday believes that he knows what’s best for you.

Before Sunday, you were allowed to make your own decisions.

Before Sunday, you actually had freedom.

The halovian swears he knows what’s best for you.

He makes sure everything you want or need, you get.

Sunday will kiss your tears away, even if he is the sole reason for them. ”It’s for your own good.” he says.

To strip you of freedom, to shackle you to him like a bird in a cage. His sweet kisses, his love, his everything; they’re all fucking poison. He does not hesitate to drown you in his poison if it means protecting you.

You cry out, “Sunday.” In desperate pleas.

But he will not listen, he’ll pretend he doesn’t hear anything.

He believes that if he gives you the taste of freedom, you’ll find a way to fly away from his grasp– he will not allow it. So he does what he’s best at, keeping you stuck to him.

”What do you want, dear?” He smiles at you like he’s never sinned.

You throw away the pathetic gifts he adorned you with, gold, diamonds and stones you could not name but they are not what you want, “I want to see my friends.”

”They’re no good, trust me.” Your friends once told you that you should go, that he’s toxic, but you were a fool to drown in him.

“What do you know about my friends?” He’s done everything to kill that flame inside of you, that hope that maybe one day you’d escape him and be free once again, you’re a fool, he thinks.

He clicks his tongue as he puts down his newspaper at the coffee table, ”They tried to take you away from me.”

”They did not, you know I would never leave you.” A blatant lie but it's stupid that you take him for a fool that’ll believe your words.

He only chuckles, your attempts to get away from him are futile, it’s pathetic it makes him laugh. “I admire your confidence, but you’re staying here tonight.”

Death has never been more alluring under his influence, but you can not die.

“Please,” you beg again, but he only presses his finger to your lips, “Shh…”

”One day you’ll thank me for taking such good care of you.” He gets down on his knees to kiss the back of your hand, “You’re safe here.”

He gets up to sit right next to you, he doesn’t flinch when you slap his face away when he tries to kiss you. The man only grabs your wrist when you try to push him away again. He kisses you with passion, in love but is it truly love when there is no trust?

There’s no use questioning his intentions, “This is for your own good.”

What good is there when there is no freedom? He thinks beautiful birds should be protected. Even if it meant being trapped in a cage, stripped of any sense of freedom, as long as you're safe, as long as you're here with him, he is content. "Dont give me that look."

Your eyes train on the way he rolls his eyes at your defiance, "Just let me go."

Sunday glares at you, his grip on your wrist tight, you're sure he's about to tear it off. "No."

When will you stop acting like a child?

The halovian is too far down the rabbit hole of self righteousness and his obsession with you that he if he needs to tear you limb by limb to keep you close to him, to keep you from rubbing away, he will do it.

His phone rings, it must be business calls again, Penacony sure is in a state of chaos when it's crumbling down. He lets go off you to take his phone.

"Yes yes... Sunday speaking."

You dont understand what they're murmuring about. All you could register is it's something about his sister.

His facial expression turned grim the more time he spent on the phone. The phone call ends and he puts it down, the life from his face drained but when he sees you, he is relieved.

You are still here with him.

He intertwined your hands together, you can feel anger and despair that he's exuding as he stares at you like a deer in the headlights. "Please, promise me."

"You'll never leave me too."

It doesn't sound like a question, it sounds like a statement.

You'll truly never know what freedom is, for that is only a privilege that you can never have. In his arms you cannot cry, because he'll drown you in his lies again and again.

On the bright side, you are never alone. You will always have Sunday, whether you like it or not.

Note: bye i got extreme writer's block at Sunday's part I had to take almost a 2 week break bc i rlly have no idea what to write for him oh my god. I absolutely did not give them justice 😥

Written by @khuzena. Likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated. ♡ 

[thehighladywrites]

corrupted cops.

pairing: police officer cassian x drug dealer reader

summary: you get caught red handed by cassian and try to do whatever it takes to skip out on jail

warnings: 18+, tiny plot like minimal, smut, backshots, seduction, solicitation, illegal activities, drugs mentioned, car sex, riding, cuffs being used wrongly😉

amara’s note: if u see any mistakes or errors no you didn’t and i blame english

next episode! — tba😉

series masterlist

"10, 20, 30 – are you kidding me? Pay for real or get out if my face," you demand, your hand outstretched, impatience and annoyance evident on your face.

This fool thinks he can score a whole bag for just $30. Not only is your supply top-tier and unmatched, but you also deal in real quality weed. You’re drugs are in demand and are selling quickly on many street corners, earning you hefty profits.

"Can't I pay some other time?" The typical rich, snotty guy with the douchebag hairstyle looks at you as if this is a negotiation, like he can convince you to lower your price for a rich trust fund baby like him. No fucking way.

"Listen dipshit, I'll make you pay double if I have to repeat myself. Then I'll ban you," you warn, narrowing your eyes at him as you slowly retract your arm.

The guy panics, sighs, then pulls out a $100 bill.

"See? You can be good!" you quip, snatching the bill out of his hands.

He mutters something before leaving, driving off in his stupidly loud supercar.

You were so overcharging him but you didn’t care. “Fucking loser.”

You turned around, pulling the massive stack you earned tonight out of your pocket, smiling as you think of what new things to buy for your luxury apartment. You count the money before looking up and freezing.

A man is standing there, dressed in the full nine yards in a police uniform, hands folded over his chest as he looks down at you with furrowed brows.

“Mind telling me what you were doing?”

His gruff voice entrances you for a moment.

It’s in that moment you realize that it’s the voice of the guy from your old class. The loud, popular guy had turned into a police officer. It didn’t shock you, honestly. Cassian was always about honesty and integrity, all about giving back to the community and whatnot.

Then you remember you’re holding a massive stack of money, weed is in your pocket, and he most likely saw you selling. So you smile at him before running.

You bolt, the sound of his heavy footsteps driving you forward.

Panic starts to set in, but you push it down, focusing on your escape. You bite your lip, urging yourself to keep going despite the danger looming around you.

“I’m SO fucked,” you think, looking around for an escape route.

In the dimly lit alley, you spot a door and rush towards it, relief flooding through you. Finally, you think, a way out from this mess. Your hands shake as you fumble with the lock, but no matter how hard you try, the door remains stubbornly shut, making you almost sob in frustration.

Frantic, you search for another escape route, your heart pounding in your chest.

"An alley? How cliche," he remarks, approaching you with a wry grin. The dim light of the alley lamp highlights his handsome face. You didn’t have time to admire him before, since you were running and all, but damn, he looked absolutely delicious.

Dark features, nice hair, a straight nose, and a stubbled jaw. He was wearing a tight short-sleeved officer shirt that hugged his built arms insanely. He had really grown into a fine man compared to the young boy he used to be. You looked him up and down, really taking in his height as he got closer and closer.

"You know there’s no way out of this, so put your hands infront of you and let’s make this easy, yeah? Don’t do anything stupid. Again," he says, his voice firm but with a hint of exasperation.

“Fine.”

You chewed the inside of your mouth, trying to think of a way out of this as he put the cuffs on you, leading you back to his car. Maybe some sweet words and feminine tears would solve it, you thought, hoping for a chance to talk your way out of trouble.

You had never gotten caught before, it was extremely humiliating and you would not stand for it.

—

"What’s your name, officer?" you ask, your voice tinted with slight seduction, testing if he remembers you. You don’t care what you have to do; you will get out of this.

"You know who I am. Badge number 031210," he answers, eyes on the road, hands gripping the steering wheel.

“Okay, Cassian. I think there has been a huge mistake. You don’t really wanna arrest me,” you say, rolling your eyes playfully, the cuffs jingling as you motion with your hands.

“Yeah? Why do I really not want to arrest you?”

“Because I’m a good person, I really am. So I happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. Come on, we can overlook this, just let me go.” you plead, trying to appeal to his sense of leniency from the backseat of his cop car.

He chuckles, lookinh back at you through the mirror. “Can’t do that. Maybe don’t deal drugs next time.”

He sighs looking at you with sympathy that makes your skin crawl. It made you feel ashamed that his old classmate was a lowlife drug dealer.

“What happened, Y/N? I remember how smart you were. Surely, you could have become something big,” he questioned.

You looked away not being able to handle the emotions in his eye. “Things happened Cassian. I’m not explaining them to you,” you try crossing your arms then remember the cuffs and settle for putting them in your lap.

Cassians gaze hardens slightly. “Okay then. I guess you’ll have to explain it all down at the precinct.”

Okay, so you’re screwed, right? Wrong. There’s always a plan cooking in your little head.

You take your cuffed hands in front of you and drag down the zipper of your hoodie, looking down innocently. “Cassian, could you turn on the AC? It’s a little hot in here. And you don’t mind me taking off my hoodie, right?”

Cassian grips the wheel, the leather creaking slightly. “I don’t mind.”

As you slip off your hoodie, you catch his gaze lingering on your exposed skin, a flicker of something in his eyes. The air between you thickens with tension, the heat rising in the confined space of the car.

Thankfully, there’s no barrier between you, so there’s nothing stopping you from getting closer to him.

“Cass, I’m having trouble taking it off, could you help me?” you ask, having shuffled very close to him, talking lowly into his ear. You're directly behind him, knowing the effect your voice had on the man.

You took advandtage of the fact that you were in a red light and got closer, whispering and pleading for him to help you get comfortable. Cassian’s eyes fluttered slight at the way your voice and breath were hitting his ear.

You scanned his body, his composure, cassian was tense, there was no doubt about it––he was more than turned on. “That’s cute.”

That snapped him out of his trance. He straightened up a little. “Do you want me to arrest you for solicitation too?” he mutters, driving to the station.

You start to beg some more, knowing that he’s at his limit. There’s no way he’s gonna be able to keep up the good cop act for long.

You start to place light kisses on his cheek, traveling all the way to his neck. He lets out a groan and tucks his lips between his teeth, struggling to maintain his composure.

“Come play with me, officer. I’ll let you do whatever you want to me,” you add, licking a stripe up his neck. That’s all it takes for him to speed into a abandoned alley and park haphazardly.

The adrenaline makes your heart beat faster and faster, a sick rush going through you.

There was a moment of silence when he pulled you out of the car, his grip firm on your upper arm. You found yourself sitting at the edge of the seat, your feet between his legs, the proximity making your pulse race.

“When will you learn that this isn’t a joke,” he exclaims with irritation.

You tilt your head slightly, looking up at him through dolled lashes, doe-eyed and innocent.

“Maybe I need you to teach me, officer.”

The corner of his lips rise as he squats down infront of you, putting one hand on your thigh.

“Think some dick’s gon’ set you straight, huh?”

You erupt in goosebumps, loving the way his warm hands roamed your body.

“mm’yeah. think that’s exactly what i need.”

“Yeah? Alright then, step out of the vehicle,” he orders, not having an ounce of shame as he oogles your ass on your way out.

He pulls out the keys much to your surprise. But he only releases you so you can take off your hoodie, if anything it makes you more confused when he makes you put your hands behind your back instead of infront of you.

“I need sumthin’ to hold on to, don’t I?” he announces casually, like he isn’t talking about fucking someone he just arrested.

He walks you over to the hood of his car where he bends you over, thankful for the short sundress you were wearing underneath that hoodie.

Cassian puts his leg between yours, kicking your feet apart. He pushes your front against the hood of his car, the cold metall cooling your warm skin down.

“If you behave, i’ll let you go, understand?” he asks.

You almost scoff. Of course you’ll behave, it’s your-get-out-of-jail card. But you don’t say that. “Yes, sir. I understand.”

Cassians hold tightens slightly before he tells you how good of a girl you are as he pulls your panties down to your ankles. His hands move to his heavy belt, the belt thudding on the floor as he clips it off.

His hand lands on your ass with a smack, causing you to inhale sharply while showing him your wet, throbbing cunt. You smile secretly as his cock stretches you until he’s fully inside before jerking himself back out. His fucking rough and hard as his nails dig into the soft skin of your hips.

“Look at that, could just slide right in,” he chuckles lowly.

Your sounds of pleasure slipped from your lips as you tugged the metal cuffs around your wrists that were pinning your hands behind your back.

The way his dick was hitting deep, so deliciously hitting that good spot made your eyes roll back. Who knew a cop could fuck this good?

“—feels too fucking good, Cassian,” you moaned out, body covered in goosebumps.

he was giving you long strokes, pushing all the way in and then sliding all the way out leaving only a bit of his tip in every time

“yeah? some dick settin’ you straight,” he lets out when you squeeze around him, dangerously close to creaming on his cock.

You had to agree— his dick definitely made you act right. You almost started thinking about giving up dealing, maybe settle down and live a happy life. THAT is how good he was fucking you.

Cassian pulled out completely causing you to almost scream in frustration. Just a few more pumps and you would have been deliciously weak in the knees.

“No, no, no— put it back in, please,” you begged with low lidded eyes, god, you could almost cry.

“I’m just taking you into the car. Don’t worry, i’ll be so deep in your guts, you’ll never have to worry about me pulling out,” he whispers into your ear before gently biting your lobe.

—

Tears rolled down your face as you cried relentlessly out of pleasure. The windows had fogged up, droplets dripping down.

you whimpered, burying your head deeper into the car seat. he showed you no mercy, jackhammering into you as he shoved your face down, holding you down by your neck.

your eyes rolled into the back of your head as he dragged along your walls, ramming into your g-spot. some drool seeped out of the side of your mouth as his fingers dug into your hips.

“You still with me?” he asks, gently grabbing your neck to see if you’re alive. Cassian speeds up again when you barely manage to nod.

your mind became hazy and eyelids heavy, pathetic whimpers and gasps falling from your lips as you felt yourself slipping away.

“Officer, m’gon cum— can i, please?” You brokenly let out. Not only did you take backshots; he also made you ride, ate you out and had you gagging on his dick. You were exhausted and spent.

“You promise to be good? Hm?”

“Yeah, i promise,” you whine with tears im your eyes, toes curling as you tip over the edge.

“Then you can cum, pretty face.”

a low, guttural sound escapes his throat as he finishes, flooding into your pussy and stuffing you full with his cum before pulling out and smirking as it oozes out of you.

you collapse in the backseat, sweaty skin sticking to the dark leather. cassian runs a hand through his hair before putting his pants back on. a cocky smirk graces his lips at the sight of your fucked out, tired body.

“You’re a fucking terrible cop. Fucking someone you’ve arrested is grounds for termination, you know,” you rasp out quietly after a moment of peaceful quiet, smiling when his smirk lessens as he rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. You just better not let me run into you again. I’ll arrest your ass for real, understand?" he warns, his eyes boring into yours.

"I understand. And I’m sure you will, officer," you nod at him with a smile before gathering your belongings and getting ready to leave.

You kiss him one last time, a filthy, tongue-filled, teasing kiss before you open the door, leaving behind a flustered cop.

Of course, you would sell again. And you would do it especially in his patrol route.

Both him and the dick is far too interesting.

🏷️: @vbbaby-girl @i-am-a-lost-girl16 @azriels-shadowsinger @slut4acotar @clarencetonkin @cherryjain17 @stonerpersona @nobodyb183 @amara-moonlight @cadiawrites @aelinwya @justasillylittlegoofyguy @acourtoflostandwanderingstars @surielstea @cauldronboilmetakemetovelaris @glittervame @juniperberriesaries @bruhhvv @dlveenhassab @marigold-morelli @claireswritingcorner @redbleedingrose @readychilledwine @honeybeefae @danikamariewrites @blipy-blopy @sarawritestories

[goatyuuji]

Sorry for the delay, but it's here now… Most of them are NC-17 and R rated, so read the tags.

One shots (1k-9k)

Incense by cielelyse (E, 6.6k)

“We wanted to know,” says Mimiko, “who between the two of you is the better fighter?” (Or: Satoru tries to prove he's better at close combat, but Suguru has other plans.)

Curiosity Killed the Crush by xBarbarellax (E, 7.5k)

Today was the day. No more chickening out, no more waiting for him to make the first move, no. Today, Hina was going to ask out Gojo Satoru.

all the world’s a stage by ruche

“I don’t deserve to love you,” Suguru offered. It was placid as a temple pond, at odds with all his feelings. His arms went limp at his sides. He smiled again, sweet and hollow. “Right?” Satoru recovered well enough. Intensity seemed to evaporate off of him within a few stiff seconds. “They deserve this, I deserve that,” he said after a beat. “Who died and made you king of the universe? Talk about obnoxious.” Suguru is horny and Satoru makes that Suguru’s problem.

closer to the bone by sanctify (E, 6k)

“How thoughtful of you.” Gojo eventually says as he rests the cuffs on his lap, skimming a finger along the black padding on the inside of one. “I saw that you had added them to your wishlist.” Geto hums, tilting his head in his direction, the sharp amber of his eyes like spools of molten honey. “I hope it wasn’t too forward of me.” This has Gojo burst out into a brief fit of laughter, the bright whites of his teeth showing as he leans forward to lay a hand on Geto’s chest, easy and playful and flirtatious. “I invite you over so I can record you fucking my brains out and post it online, and you think you’re being forward?” Gojo laughs again, a soft pink coloring the curve of his cheeks this time, accentuated by the highlighter he wore.

Thought you were about to get some foreplay with me by SaintOfAthena (E, 5.7k)

See, Gojo Satoru has a problem: there is a frontier that his true feelings cannot breach. When they try to force it, it is only at the cost of their true nature that they are allowed to pass. Consequently, after a mental breakdown due to a pimple that leads to Geto taking care of him, he jumps on the chance to tell him how he feels but things don't go as smoothly as expected.

up the river, we can go slow by Eskarina (E, 5.8k)

Satoru looks ethereal this way—like nothing has ever touched him. Like Suguru couldn’t even touch him if he wanted to. He does want to, eventually; ask Satoru if he’s allowed to leave marks that won’t disappear within the blink of an eye. He doesn’t think they’re quite there yet.

Trials and tribulations of loving Satoru Gojo.

Woozy by Kiboutie (E, 2.5k)

“I have infinity, remember? No one can touch me,” Satoru repeats, before slowly reaching forward and tucking a stray strand of hair behind Suguru’s ear with a wistful sigh. “Unless I want them to.” Alternatively, The one where omega Gojo continues to spend his heat with Getou, even after they've parted ways.

Longer fics (9k+)

4AM by damiselart (E, 10.8k)

Suguru and Satoru's meet cute but it's horny instead.

His **** is What?! by owl_beans (E, 10.1K)

Gojo Satoru did not have a crush on Getou Suguru. They had never even spoken to each other. Satoru was just curious about what neat and polite Getou Suguru was like when he wasn't all buttoned up. The answer was not at all what Satoru expected and even better than he had imagined. To no one's surprise, they hit it off infuriatingly well.

in the eye of the dragonfly by backbones (E, 9.3k)

Suguru first heard about the Six Eyes when he was still a child. Like most children his age, it sounded like a legend, or a fairy tale out of a book—and when he was a teenager, it became more real. Suguru was slated to be a sorcerer, but he still came from a modest clan inside the same village where the Six Eyes was born, and occasionally he would hear little truths: he was a boy of sixteen (like Suguru), he had eyes like the sky (unlike Suguru), or he will be the strongest sorcerer alive (not if Suguru had a say). But— He’s a boy, Suguru thought. He’s a boy. (In which the Gojo clan arranges a marriage between Satoru and Suguru.)

lovesick lullabye by pastelcoloureddreams (E, 18k)

"Satoru, you can't pretend like there's nothing more to us," Suguru appeals, grabbing the crook of Satoru's elbow. That certainly makes Satoru freeze but his eyes remain hard, an impenetrable fortress to the soft and vulnerable boy he knows still lives inside Satoru. "I still love you." "Love? Is that why you left me?"

Slow Hands by megumiblues (E, 12.3k)

Satoru is in desperate need of a massage, so who better to ask than famous masseuse Suguru, who just so happens to be the best friend he’s been in love with for over ten years now?

The Traveller's Song by No_Ir (E, 23.3k)

When it comes, the death of summer is vapid and quiet. It tastes like stale water and smells like memories gone bad in the heat. Nothing mourns it and the air is speckled with bits of seawater that cling to the dampness on the back of his neck. Crickets chirp throughout the night and the bed is too warm to sleep in, so he buries his face into pillows that smell like dust and salt and ignores the stabbing behind his eyes till he can feel the irritating warmth of another day on his back. I miss the sea, he thinks, staring at the familiar outline of the window, palm resting on the friend-shaped dent on his bed. Exhaustion drapes itself over his shoulders and sweat beads like pearls at the roots of his hair. I miss the sea like I miss my friend.

The Future of a Broken Past by dazylein (34.5k, ongoing)

Temporary amnesia due to severe trauma. It’s all the doctor can tell Satoru when he wakes up bloodied and bruised with no ID on him and no fingerprints matching any record. Plagued with the idea that his life must have been meaningless if no one is even looking for him, Satoru finds himself in front of a buddhist temple that proves him otherwise. As the haze around his memories clears, the guesses of who did this to him and why turn muddier and muddier.

[j-nor]

i saw you collect clown shit I'm being a clown for Halloween can I see 👀

SCREAMING AND CRYING!!!! YES ID LOVE TO SHOW YOU!!! IM BEING A CLOWN FOR HALLOWEEN TOO!!! THANK YOU FOR ASKING ME ABOUT MY CLOWN STUFF <333333333

This is my clown suit, which is hand-made out of 2 colorful blankets and a pillowcase, i free handed most of it and also hand stitched about 60% of it because my sewing machine broke mid-project. (Just a heads up while we’re still at the top, this post is gonna be loooooooooooong and have a lot of pictures, also sorry for how gross the carpet looks he’s just like that)

This is my circus tent juice box

This is my costume drawer, where I cram as much stuff as I can fit, it’s pretty full so I’ll just show you my favorite stuff.

These are the highlights, my googley-eye ring, the first clown mask I made, the first party hat I made, my diy ruffled wrist cuffs and collar, and my jewelry hoard.

These are my clowns, which are both hand sewn, they’re names are Butterbean (left) and Corn (right). Butterbeans face was smudged by some water, I’ll get around to fixing it soon.

These are all the little trinkets I keep with them, things I find that I consider clownish. Most of these were picked up from dollar stores, thrift stores, stoop sales, giveaways or relatives homes. There’s a lot so I’ll just show my favorites.

These are my rubber reptiles, my tardigrade and monster finger-puppets, my wind up toys, and some bouncy balls and jingle bells.

This is my doorway decoration.

These are my other accessories that don’t fit in the costume drawer. My collection of silly sunglasses, my second favorite vest, this lovely sweater, and of course the essential clown nose and bow tie.

These are my clown shoes. These rubber boots have tragically become far too small for me, so I’m saving them untill my cousins are older. The rainbow sneakers are only for special occasions because they hurt my feet and Im trying to protect the color.

Land lastly, this is my favorite sculpture, I made it a few years ago.

All these were collected over the past 3ish years, a-lot of pieces were hand made or found in cheap stores, when I go out I keep my eyes peeled for anything clownish and that’s why I’ve managed to grow my hoard so large lol. If anyone reading wants to use the pictures for something (a mood board, a collage, whatever), tag me so I can see it!!!! Thanks for sending me this ask :o) I literally jumped out of bed as soon as I got it because I am a weapons-grade weirdo and love to talk about clowns

Have a lovely day and a happy Halloween!!!

[analisegrey]

So…I only just started writing this, so I likely won’t have it done in time for whumptober proper…but figured y’all might not mind a snippet.

__

It’s with great effort that Vegas tries to set his anger aside. He and Pete were set up, were sent right into a trap with a supposedly-vetted prospective client, and so help him, whoever gave the bad intel had better hope they don’t survive long enough for Vegas to find them. When he does (and he will), he’s going to take them apart. He’ll have the pleasure of seeing what their internal organs look like, and if the person is very lucky, maybe he’ll kill them before that happens.

First things first, though.

“Pete? Pete can you hear me?”

It takes a couple of tries before he gets any kind of response. Pete’s frustratingly just out of reach, and so he has to wait for Pete to come up to awareness, groaning as he starts to move.

“What-”

“Careful, Pete. Easy does it.”

A minute or so later sees Pete unsteadily sitting up, swaying slightly from one side to another as his sense of balance keeps shifting. Every once in awhile his arms will jerk in aborted attempts to catch himself, forgetting momentarily that his hands are bound. Eventually he scoots back to lean against the wall perpendicular to the one Vegas is chained to.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Pete says, face scrunching as he brings his hands up to pinch at the bridge of his nose. “I’ve got a killer headache, but I think it’s whatever they used to knock us out.” He rolls his shoulders, and Vegas catches the subtle movement of Pete’s limbs from top to bottom. “Everything else seems okay, though. Maybe a little bruised, but not too bad.”

Ready to run. Ready to fight. Ready for whatever Vegas may need of him, should the chance arise.

“What about you, Vegas?”

“About the same, really. Headache, a bit sore, but otherwise alright. I could have done without this, though,” he says, lifting his arms slightly to highlight where his cuffs are attached to the wall. “Have a hell of a crick in my neck from being slouched weird before I woke up.”

“Oh please, I’ve seen some of the positions you sleep in,” Pete says, head tilted back against the wall, eyes closed and a smile on his face. “I find it amazing that some of them are compatible with having bones.”

[he1chouarts]

Get to know Veryn (Tav)

Basics:

full name: Veryn Shadewalker

titles: None

nicknames: Ver (by his mother), my Sun/little sun (by his companion)

gender: Nonbinary, presents masc

pronouns: He/Him or They/Them

sexual orientation: Pansexual, Panromantic (he's a lover AND a fighter)

marital status: Unmarried/Single

age: 30

place of birth: Baldur's Gate, Lower City.

residence: Pre-Nautiloid incident, Baldur's Gate. Post-game, the Underdark (with Astarion)

occupation: Entertainer and thief (by trade and necessity)

species: Half wood elf, half human

known languages: Common, some Elvish, Thieves' Cant, bit of Gnoll (he's got a soft spot for animals and dangerous, misunderstood things)

Appearance:

height: 5'11"

build: Slender, athletic

eyes: Ersatz Eye (blue), otherwise "Elf Summer" (gold/hazel)

hair: "Feywild Trickster" in blonde strawberry 3 with a touch of neutral grey highlight

tattoos: Beholder Gorgon on his throat

other distinguishing features: Pierced ears with a couple cartilage cuffs on the right ear. Typically seen with a cat eye deftly smudged on his eyelids in a color called "Justiciar" (a pigment his mother often used)

style: Not a lot of baggy clothing, and not a lot of exposed skin. He isn't a prude, just finds that bulk can slow one down, snag on things, be easily grabbed. Rogue gear pretty standard. He isn't vain when it comes to clothing but he keeps his face pristine. It's quite literally been his money-maker.

Personality:

positive traits: Bold, compassionate, empathetic, cheerful, adventurous

negative traits: Risk-prone, avoidant, emotionally evasive when it comes to himself, overconfident

likes: Stealing, the arts, commonfolk, nighttime, heights, eating

dislikes: Slavers, gods, pursuit of power, people who don't like animals, tradition for the sake of it, group think

fears: That no one will ever truly know him.

phobias: Sickness/disease, extremely confined spaces

hobbies: Reading voraciously, eating (I guess he's a Faerun foodie, robbing people gave him a distinguished palate), fishing

skills: Stealth, dual wield mastery, performance (music, singing, acting, you name it), sleight of hand "magic" tricks on bystanders

quirks: Obviously needs little sleep but overheats easily and likes to keep Astarion by his side through as much of the night as he can manage (letting Astarion feed nightly helps). Talks to animals by any and every means. Can't whistle.

pet peeves: Being asked to do things for free. Animal cruelty. Wasted time. Being bored.

Family:

mother: Van Essa de Vannedicque (human)

father: Alfyr Shadewalker (wood elf, clan elder)

siblings: Only child of Van Essa. His father likely sired others before him, though.

spouse/lover: Astarion (spawn)

children: None, and while they tend to like him, he doesn't want any of his own.

pets: Scratch & Owlbear cub, literally any animal that will be nice to him

notable close relatives: He knows no family other than his mother and deceased father. Because of how he and his mother were forced out of the wood Alfyr called home, he assumes he'll never know how much family he has kicking about in Faerun. Van Essa may have descended from a respectable house, but she never talked about her own family. It was as if her ties were severed and she only really had Veryn. Veryn was always too afraid to probe further, and she died before he got the chance to overcome that fear.

best friend: A Tiefling child who lived in the wood of his people, oddly enough. He never saw her again once exiled, and never knew how she came to live with a relatively small clan of elves. He can no longer remember her name, but he has an odd affinity for Infernal creatures because of her. As an adult, no one in particular. He had many friends and some lovers, but had a way of keeping them at arm's length. During the Elder Brain fiasco, Lae'zel was definitely his closest confidante other than Astarion, and Astarion took a bit longer. They were both playing each other for different reasons, which was never the case with Lae'zel. Call it a poor sense of self-preservation, but much like with Astarion, Veryn liked her from the moment their eyes met. Draw a blade on this guy and he's all in...

rival/nemesis: Haarlep, post-game (more rival/annoyance)

Faves:

time of day/night: Nighttime, preferably from outside the Gate.

weather: Cool and still at night, sunny with a slight headwind at daybreak.

breakfast food: A porridge or curry, anything from a bowl that can be proper stuffed in his maw.

dinner food: Expensive meats (nicked, of course).

snack food: Bread, fried things on sticks, sweet buns

colours: Shades of blue

songs: Nothing like belting The Elf Song to a bunch of drunkards for coin before you rob them blind later

Other random stuff:

a cherished item: He forces himself not to be sentimental, but he'll hunt his mother's favorite makeup (the aforementioned pigment called "Justiciar") down to the ends of Faerun as if his life depends on it.

first love: Probably Astarion. Definitely has had at least one previous "lover," he's not a prude or standoffish, but that's probably why Astarion is the first. Nothing he's ever experienced can compare to what they've been through, and he's still a young man, even by human standards. It made him realize what romantic love really feels like (and it's beautiful and terrifying).

usual mood: Calm, contented, perhaps a bit mischievous

defining moments: His most defining moment is the one thing he never utters to anyone until Astarion is able to get it out of him once the bond between them has progressed in strength. His father was a bizarre elf—a strange obsession with dark arts had taken him over in his late age and he was twisted by it. Veryn doesn't fully understand the degree to which he held power over his mother, but it was enough to have her visiting the wood despite Alfyr's increasingly erratic and abusive behavior. For whatever reason the other elves in the clan grew cold toward them, and a fateful incident left a young Veryn with no choice but to murder his father. They only escape the wood by the grace of what good temper remained in some of the other elders who didn't buy their cries of innocence and banished them from the High Forest forever as a result, essentially stripping Veryn of his Elvish identity. After the Elder Brain, his most defining decision is to stay with Astarion in the Underdark and work to find a way to help him return to the sun safely. He also entertains Astarion's reverse determination to extend Veryn's lifespan by some magical but non vampiric means.

[clickerflight]

Clove: Part 31 - Funeral Feast

Author's notes: AHHHHHHH I'm back! I moved last week and I've been exhausted, but I'm getting back into it. Especially after I get some rest this weekend. *it'll be so hot saturday there won't be much to do besides rest and hide inside lol*

Masterlist - Part 30

Content: Slight dehumanization, creepy fae whumpers, brainwashed vampire whumpee

.........................................

The funeral dinner was going to be the death of Ephraim. Each new thing he learned he would have to worry about was taking years off of his life. He couldn’t leave Hyrum behind or with one of his allies because both Halia and Kortops needed to be in at the dinner. Every fae needed to. So, Ephraim would have to keep a close eye on Hyrum to make sure he didn’t get taken. 

Of course, the main goal was to talk to the queen before the end of the evening and get her promise to let them go home. If they didn’t…. Well, getting home and delivering on his promises to Kortops and Halia were not going to be options anymore, feasibly. He hoped the Queen wouldn’t be so distant. She had been hiding while the funeral preparations finished in record times. Ephraim had a suspicion she was doing it on purpose to keep him and Hyrum from leaving. 

Then there was the question of getting Benny out of here. Kortops said he would try and work something there. As a consort to the Queen he had some freedoms he was pretty sure he could work with. 

There was just so much that could go wrong and Ephraim felt so out of his depth. He had never played in any sort of complicated politics in his whole life, and just this taste, even with Halia and Kortops to shield him, was making him sick. His resolve would strengthen again anytime he looked at Hyrum though. He needed to get his pup home, no matter what. 

And now it was time to prepare to go to dinner and his stomach was unhappy with him once again. 

Kortops was outfiting Ephraim and Hyrum to give them an advantage at getting to the queen, but the longer they went on, the more he felt like they were becoming objects. Hyrum especially. 

“You’ll need to wear something to announce that you are the Vampire’s pet, Pup,” Kortops said, going through the outfits and accessories he had. “It will keep you safer at this event.”

He pulled a golden collar out from a chest and Hyrum whimpered, pressing ino Ephraim’s side. 

Kortops froze and carefully put the collar back in the chest before pulling out some simple cuffs decorated with delicate golden chains. They weren’t connected to each other, but Ephraim could hear Hyrum’s heartbeat speed up when he saw them. 

“Isn’t there something else?” Ephraim asked, tightening his protective arm over Hyrum. 

“I’m afraid not,” Kortops said regretfully. “It will only be for the night. I swear it.”

Hyrum took a huge swallowing breath and nodded. “It’s okay,” he said, pushing away from Ephraim despite how the vampire wanted to pull him close and protect him forever, “I can do it. Whatever is the most convincing.”

“That would be the collar,” Kortops said hesitantly, “But I think the two of you will prefer these cuffs.”

Hyrum held out his wrists so Kortops could put the cuffs on the boy. Hyrum looked like a wild thing, his tunic and vest sleeveless to allow him extra mobility in case he needed to fight, his pants loose and comfortable in the same way, viney decorations woven into his hair. 

Halia drifted over with little clips for Ephraim’s ears, emerald in color with gold details. Hyrum and Ephraim would compliment each other in color schemes, with Ephraim dominantly in green with gold highlights and Hyrum in gold with green highlights. 

Ephraim wore something with a lot more fabric as that would be expected of him, though he was sure he could tear the fabric easily if he needed to free up some more room for himself. 

Halia placed them on as she said, “Kortops and I have been working on a contingency plan in case you cannot get a promise from the Queen tonight.”

Kortops nodded. “It’s not perfect, we may die, and there will almost certainly be fighting, but it would be better for you to try than to stay knowing what the fae and Monarch might do to you. There is a mirror in the Queen’s rooms that leads to the mortal realm.”

“Well guarded, I imagine,” Ephraim sighed as he let Halia fuss with his hair one more time, half of it braided and pulled up into a little tail in the back. 

“Yes. Very, though with us to help, it might not be too bad,” Kortops said firmly. 

“Us?” Ephraim asked, “I thought you only wanted a changeling in the modern world, not to come with us.”

Kortops glanced at Halia and said, “Maybe I would like to live there a few years or so. It would be a good change of scenery and politics.”

Ephraim smiled to himself, the nervousness fading slightly in the face of that tacit admittance of affection. “Of course. You may get banished.”

“More interesting than trying to best the twins. They will always be the Queen’s favorites, I know that by now.”

Ephraim gave a little shrug and nod. 

Once they were all dressed and everything was double checked, the four of them headed out. 

Halia hung off of Kortops’ arm, acting like the lovestruck fae toy the court believed her to be at the moment. At least, with Kortops. Most fae were aware of how the preparations coming together so quickly was mostly by her efforts. 

Hyrum stayed close to Ephraim’s side, forcing his tail to stay in a relaxed position, his ears pricked forward. He looked like he was handling this much better than Ephraim was. At least, until you looked him in the eyes. They were glazed over in that way that said his mind wasn’t really there. He was hiding from his fear. 

Ephraim wanted to draw him back out and make Hyrum laugh, but he was feeling nearly the same way. He took a deep breath. He just needed to talk to the Queen. That was all. He just needed to walk up to her before the rites and ceremonies were started and get a quick promise from her and all would be well. He was still a guest. Still a guest until the night was up and everything would be fine. 

The four entered the ball room, tables laid out along the sides, decorations hanging gracefully all over the room, and guests and pets already milling around. 

Ephraim and Hyrum split from their fae allies, making it look like they weren’t together and just arrived at the same time. 

Ephraim scanned the crowds, looking for the Monarch or Benny, but couldn’t see them yet. 

They lapped the room, nodding to guests who acknowledged Ephraim and trying not to look too distracted. 

Ephraim felt a gentle tug at his sleeve and looked to Hyrum who chucked his chin towards the other side of the room, his eyes stating that he was fully present again.

Ephraim looked across to see the snake fae who had been responsible for kidnapping Hyrum. Ephraim gave the pup a nod to let him know he was aware of the threat. 

However, distracted as they were, they didn’t notice the threat behind them. 

Ephraim tensed as someone put an arm around his waist, a little too familiarly. 

“If you aren’t Benjamin’s sire,” a melodic voice said and he turned his head to see one of the angelic fae leaning into him. Polyps, if Ephraim remembered right. 

Illesis was right there too, running a hand through Hyrum’s curls. 

“There you are,” Illesis purred. “We were wondering where the guests were. Such pretty things, all dressed up.”

“Please do not touch me or my pup,” Ephraim said in a cordial tone, and his request was complied with immediately. “Thank you.”

“Of course. You are, after all, a Guest,” Polyps said with a smile that said that would not be the case for very much longer. “What are you looking for, dear?”

“I was hoping to speak with the Monarch,” Ephraim replied. “I have a matter I would like cleared away before the feast starts.”

“Hmm,” Illesis said, clearly disappointed with the answer. “She will be here soon. Don’t you want to stay with us? We can get you a seat with the consorts, dear.”

“You could be a consort, even,” Polyps said brightly. “We can arrange that once you are no longer a Guest.”

“Oh, yes, we can teach you how to move in the courts,” Illesis said with a nod. “Why not? You could even become the Monarch one day! Vampires are the human’s clumsy attempts to create fae, after all. It would only take a few moons for everyone to consider you as good as fae.”

Ephraim cleared his throat nervously. “No, thank you, though. I have duties at home that I would like to return to. I am quite happy there.”

The angelic fae glowered twin expressions before they were gone. “Let us know if you change your mind,” Polyps said, their tone a little more clipped now. “You may need it.”

Ephraim shivered as the two left, Illesis patting him on the cheek, graceful and sinuous.

“Don’t like them,” Hyrum whispered.

“I know,” Ephraim replied. “Me neither.”

It was at that moment that he spotted Benny and the Monarch walking in through a hidden door behind the throne and Ephraim started to move. He needed to speak with her. Everything would be fine once he’d had a chance to talk with the Monarch. 

Benny noticed him coming and moved to meet him, coming down the few steps and opening his arms wide. “Eef! I’m so glad you could be here,” he said warmly. He was dressed in a truly awful outfit. Leathers so tightly fitted that it was almost as though they had simply painted Benjamin black, a cape draping from his shoulders and some sort of jingly waist skirt to hide whatever awkward transition that had to happen around his crotch in those leathers. 

“I’m glad I could be here,” Ephraim said, accepting the hug from Benjamin. He moved to pull away after a suitable length, but found that Benjamin wasn’t letting go. 

“Benny,” Ephraim said, a little sternly, his heart jumping into his throat. “I need to speak to your wife.”

“Mmhmm? I’m sure it can wait till after we’ve caught up a little.”

“I won’t be long,” Ephraim said, pushing a little harder at Benny. “It’ll be better if I just get this out of the way. Then we’ll have the whole evening.”

Benny pulled away reluctantly, but he stood between Ephraim and the Monarch, subtly moving to block him as Ephraim tried to step around him. Ephraim caught a glimpse of the Monarch’s golden eyes on them, amused. 

“Benny,” Ephraim said warningly, putting as much Vampire Sire energy he could into the words. “Get out of the way.”

Benny glanced back, tensing as the Monarch gave him a nod. 

“Fine,” Ephraim hissed. “That’s the way it’s going to be then.”

With that, he shoved Benny and the fight was on.

Part 32

Clove Taglist: @wolfeyedwitch @the-blind-one-speaks @whumpsday @extrabitterbrain @inkkswhumpandstuff 

@honeycollectswhump @whump-blog-reblogs @pigeonwhumps @mj-or-say10 @percy-frayer 

@currentlyinthesprial @scoundrelwithboba @whumps-and-bumps @hellodecisionparalysis @scatteriskity

[jordanstark007]

Chapter Two

Alex Cabot x Amelia Chase

And she did, paired with another note.

~ Some sicko killing her own sister, you’d have to kill me before I would harm Andy, but I guess some people are worse than others. Congratulations Alexandra.

When the squad noticed the new set of flowers gracing Alex’s desk, they made their threats, told her that they’d visit Amelia and tell her to stop, but she waved them off with a small smile, “She’ll get tired of it eventually, until them I’ll enjoy the flowers.”

4 months passed before she visited again, Amelia had been involved in a brawl in prison with ties to the case that Alex and SVU were prosecuting.

Two people had died and Amelia had been a witness, although judging by the torn knuckles and split eyebrow she’d obviously been more than just an innocent bystander.

“What happened?” Amelia sighed wincing slightly as she did, the throbbing pain in her lungs and ribs coaxing her grimace.

“I was reading when it started, the blonde walked over to the brunette stabbed her with a homemade shiv.” Alex nodded although her eyes were still trained on the torn knuckles,

“And what about you what’s with the split eyebrow and bloodied knuckles.” Amelia huffed,

“Some crazy bitch came over when the brawl started she said you and Andy had put her away, claimed she was going to kill me then you and Andy. I snapped, we got into it and she ended up in the infirmary.” Alex rolled her eyes,

“You should have walked away.” Amelia scoffed,

“I should and shouldn’t have done a lot of things, but I don’t regret not walking away. Nobody threatens the people I care about without facing the consequences.” Alex’s eyes were narrow, but she relented eventually pulling out her notepad and pen,

“Fine, tell me what happened from the beginning.”

A lot of their interactions remained similar, until Amelia was escorted to Alex’s office cradling a split lip and and black eye. The cuffs were removed and the guard stood outside the door before Alex walked over cautiously observing the lacerations.

“What happened, who did this.” Amelia shook her head waving off Alex’s concern.

“It’s nothing, seems like I’ve become a target after the riot, it got round I’ve got a lawyer as a sister. Now I assume I’m here for trial prep?” Alex nodded slowly, cautiously.

She felt guilty, because as much as she hated her and her crimes, but she felt guilty that Amelia was being hurt because of her and Casey.

“I can have you transferred to protective custody if you’d like.” Amelia once again waved off her concern, instead her gaze traveled to the flowers that sat on Alex’s desk,

“You kept them.” A light blush dusted Alex’s cheeks,

“Their nice flowers, it would have been a shame to throw them away.” A teasing smirk danced across Amelia’s lips,

“Of course.” They remained conversing in a similar fashion for the duration Amelia flashing a teasing comment every so often and Alex attempting to keep them on task and topic.

Her next gift wasn’t only flowers after that, no it was accompanied by a new leather briefcase, specifically a Cartier briefcase, that possessed a retail price of $3,000 dollars, personalised leather bound notebooks embossed with her name of which was highlighted in gold, another couple hundred dollars. And an Alexander the Great Visconti fountain pen that retailed for at least another $3,000 dollars, real on the nose. The gift was extravagant, more so than what she was accustomed to receiving.

And if the squad had noticed the new kit, they didn’t metion it, neither did Casey for that matter although she figured they’d assume with the Cabot wealth that she had brought it herself.

But if they knew Alex they would know, she’d never reasonably spend that much on herself even with her own unlimited finacial funds she’d never indulge at that price. But a gift was a gift regardless of the gifter.

The next time Amelia was in her office she had torn up knuckles a broken nose that had stips across the bridge and a few broken ribs that caused her to limp into the room.

Alex frowned, placing her pen on the pages of her notebook, items that Amelia had bought for her.

“What happened?” Amelia winced as the warden removed her cuffs, before closing the door standing outside,

“Would you believe me if I told you, I ran into a door.” Alex shook her head tentatively, raising her hand to trace the bruising around her cheeks.

“Who did this?” The convict shrugged,

“Some bitch that killed her kid, you and Andy prosecuted, she obviously held a grudge.” Alex’s eyes searched hers, grasping at the comfort that she found amongst green eyes.

“I really think we should have you put in protective custody, I mean this is the third time you’ve been attacked.” Amelia waved away Alex’s concern,

“I agree to that and they win Alexandra, I’m fine I know how to take care of myself.” Alex found herself growing frustrated,

“And the next time you’ll end up on a cold slab in the morgue.” Amelia smirked but Alex could see the vulnerablity in Amelia’s eyes,

“I know a few people who wouldn’t be disappointed about that outcome.” Alex frowned,

“What about Casey?” Amelia shrugged, carefully walking over to the couch in Alex’s office,

“Andy doesn’t need me ruining her reputation, I think deep down she’d be glad I was dead.” The ADA shook her head refuting the statement,

“I don’t think that’s true. Your Casey’s twin sister, she doesn’t want you dead, I’d bet she’d hate to even see you hurt.” Amelia nodded curtly considering Alex’s words,

“Well then I guess it’s good thing she doesn’t visit to see it.” The universe seemed to have a cruel sense of humour, as it was at that moment that Casey opened the office door clutching a stack of files.

When she saw Amelia she froze and when she noticed the injuries she rushed over pawing all over her face, stuttering her words of concern. Eventually Amelia clasped Casey’s hands in her own,

“Andy I’m fine, it’s nothing just a scratch.” The glare that emulated from the redhead made even Alex shiver,

“I’m having you put in protective custody, being my sister alone puts you in danger, I won’t let you get hurt because of me.” She stormed over to the phone in Alex’s office Amelia attempting to stand but stumbling in pain. Alex caught her holding up most of her weight as Amelia groaned.

“Cassandra no! I’m fine in general population, I can take care of myself.” Casey rolled her eyes slamming the phone back on the receiver.

“A broken nose and ribs, and bruises all over you face how is that fine.” A wolffish grin danced across Amelia’s face,

“Well they’re all in the infirmary so I’d consider that successful. I don’t need protection Andy I’m doing just fine by myself.” The young ADA scoffed turning to Alex,

“SVU dropped off all of the files for the Edward’s case,” she then turned to address Amelia, “I’ll look forward to planning your funeral.”

Amelia sighed slowly lowering herself back onto the couch, “She has a point.”

Amelia grinned up lazily at the blonde, “Well I guess it’s a good thing I’ve written a will then.”

The next gift was by far the most lavish, a watch with a pink leather strap, a Vacheron Constantin self winding pink gold watch with diamonds encrusted around the clock face, with a $53,000 dollar value.

And when she visited next she noticed the fading bruises and Amelia noticed the watch brandishing her wrist, “You like the watch.”

Alex nodded, “$53,000 dollars on a watch is a lot Amelia.” The redhead simply shrugs,

“For you it’s worth it.” And God did that melt something within Alex, and not that she’d ever admit it but the caring nature of the woman made her wonder how exactly she ended up a convicted rapist and murderer.

[alblondo23]

(slight tweak of the timeline, and inspired by Oscar posting hoodies on his insta, because that boy somehow knew, I swear)

Logan didn't want to wake Oscar. He knew the week had been exhausting for him, even before he got to the race; adoring media begging for interviews, adoring fans begging for autographs, pictures, hugs. Daniel had tried to lift some of the burden from Oscar's shoulders - "Mark did the same for me, when I was a rookie, so it's the least I can do for him," he had told Logan (and Logan idly wondered, why had Daniel told him this?) - but there was only so much he could do, without racing himself.

And so now Oscar was asleep, half-curled, half-sprawled on his hotel room bed in that position that screamed "I only meant to lie down for a moment", and Logan couldn't bear to wake his friend.

His friend. Only a friend.

But Oscar -

- Oscar was wearing his hoodie.

That darned Williams Australia hoodie that Oscar had spent all week teasing Logan about, Oscar was wearing it, snuggled down into it against the coolness of the evening, his face turned into the side of the hood, a tiny smile quirked at the corners of his mouth. The hoodie was long on him, the waistband brushing his thighs - thighs that Logan definitely wasn't thinking about any kind of weird way, of course - but Oscar, being heavier, filled it out better, the fabric taut across his shoulders and hips.

Logan didn't want to wake Oscar, but despite the stereotype of Australia being warm, Melbourne in early April was cool, winter beginning to creep around the edges.

At the last moment, Logan spotted the dark shape of a hoodie on Oscar's desk chair, and snatched it up. It was too short on him, the sleeves leaving his wrists bare at the cuffs, but it did the job. Logan sat on the bed for a moment, fiddling with the cuffs. Oscar's bed was so soft, Logan thought he might just lie down next to him for a moment...

~

Oscar woke with the sun the next morning, largely because he had forgotten to pull the curtains, and was greeted with the surprising sight of Logan, sprawled out on the bed next to him, dead to the world asleep.

Wearing his hoodie.

Oscar had pinched Logan's, the night before, as part of the game of teasing his friend - his friend, not anything more - and had accidentally fallen asleep in it; for some reason, it had felt like one of Logan's hugs, and smelled like him too.

But he hadn't expected Logan to steal Oscar's hoodie back.

He couldn't stop staring.

His only coherent thought, for a long while, was that Logan should wear more green. Not the obnoxious British Racing Green of Aston, but that lovely dark emerald of Oscar's things. It highlighted his skin, made him look glowing and lovely and -

- nice. It made his friend look nice.

But there was something about seeing Logan lying there with Oscar's branding on him, Oscar's initials, the outline of Oscar's home track, that made something possessive and only half-acknowledged purr in his chest.

Too late, Oscar realised Logan's eyes were open. Open, their brilliant blue dancing and sparking and brightened by the green contrast -

~

Logan was dreaming. He must still be asleep. That was the only explanation for Oscar hovering above him, his cheeks pink with a blush, his eyes fixed on Logan, still wearing that hoodie.

Well, if it was a dream, then Logan would let himself have what he had barely recognised while waking.

~

It was only when their lips met that Oscar thought, oh god, I'm a moron.

~

It was only when Oscar sighed Logan's name against his mouth that Logan realised, this is really happening.

And soon enough, both hoodies were on the floor.

I had to take a day and think on this because it's just soo good!! When I saw Oscar's post about the hoodies, I was going to post something, but then I saw this! I've reread it so many times trying to collect my thoughts I won't lie.

First off, Daniel seeing what's between Logan and Oscar and knowing that Logan will be there for Oscar to support him! He told you that because he knows Logan. He knows. (Max and Lando definitely had been updating him on the gossip. Max mostly to make Daniel see how much he misses racing and come back. To the sport of course not just to Max ;) Lando does it so he can find an ally in teasing Oscar)

Logan not even realizing that it's Oscar's hoodie only for Oscar to go absolutely wild for it when he wakes up is perfect. Logan is all heart eyes and some dirty thoughts while Oscar's out here going he looks best in My colors, My initials, and My clothes.

Oscar originally only stole Logan's hoodies to feel close to him. Now Oscar steals all of Logan's clothes so that Logan can only wear Oscar's things. Seems fair to him!

Now onto the kiss! The kiss is everything! I've said it before and I'll say it again, these two have such intense mutual pining vibes! They'd only get together when something finally broke as one of them finally thought screw it and reached out. Logan reaching out because he thinks it's a dream is perfect! The hoodies both landing on the floor made me laugh because it's the best fade to black.

After this all happens, Oscar definitely tells Logan that he looks amazing in green, for purely unselfish reasons of course! His plan works perfectly because Logan doesn't own much green and wears (a larger version of) Oscar's hoodie as he slowly brings green into his wardrobe. Everything is perfect! Until Logan actually wears non Oscar branded green in public and gets photographed! Oscar has to then realize that Logan looking beautiful in green in public turns that half-acknowledged purr in his chest into a howl as suddenly everyone is commenting about how pretty Logan looks. Suddenly every pic that appears online of Logan wearing green (because he likes when Oscar calls him beautiful or says it compliments his eyes so he wears green a lot now) there's Oscar making very clear to the world that Logan is there with him.

Logan posts a picture of him in Oscar’s hoodie on Instagram laying in bed all rumpled after the fade to black, and Oscar immediately pulls him into a kiss because now he can kiss Logan whenever he wants. Oscar turning into a (non toxic) possessive mess because Logan wore his hoodie once is amazing for me.

[marshmallowprotection]

Dahlia

Pairing: Unknown/Reader Description: On the evening of the charity gala, you encounter him in all his glory, the hacker who brought you to this place.  Word Count: 1328 [Read on AO3]

“Don’t you know I’m no good for you?” 

The chuckle in the back of his throat was a telling one, reminding you just how dangerous it was to let him this close to you without a second pair of eyes to make sure he didn’t do anything he shouldn’t. It wasn’t like you cared, though. Who could expect you to think twice when you hardly stopped to think once? You weren’t the kind of person who wanted to think things through. 

You were just another one of those reckless and impulsive fools that wandered right into a minefield because you didn’t pause to read the sign that said: Danger ahead! You idiot! 

You never had much self-preservation skills in the first place.

Would you have those fears deeply woven in your veins as someone who was willing to listen to a stranger tell you what to do even though it could’ve gotten you killed? No, you wouldn’t, wouldn’t you? You didn’t care to think, and because of that, you found yourself amongst the RFA and their chaotic storm of emotions that spiraled around you like a thundering set of crashing waves against rocky shores. 

But, more importantly, your actions led you where you were that evening, away from everyone and everything, sans the hacker that brought you to them in the first place. 

He wasn’t what you expected him to be, either. 

Shaggy white curls, unruly and untamed, with pink highlights kissing the tips, bright baby blues that seemed to be drinking in every inch of your features, and what appeared to be coarse hands that had a lifetime of scars trailed from his fingertips to the cuffs of his sleeves. 

He wore a suit for the occasion of the night, but with his own flare, a choker around his throat, belts mish-mashed across his chest, and a chain dangling from the hip of his pants. 

Despite the dark rings around his eyes, the chipped lips that were in desperate need of gloss, and the bemused look in his eyes, you thought he was… handsome. 

There was a certain charm about him in your eyes, but no matter what you thought of him, that nagging feeling in the back of your head was there to remind you that he manipulated you to get revenge. You weren’t sure what he wanted or the pain he suffered at the hands of the RFA, but there was one undeniable truth about Unknown: That look on his face told you how easily he could cage you in and devour you. 

You could call for someone to swoop in and save you if you wanted. 

But, did you want that? 

His little game of cat and mouse… the late night calls and feverish text messages sent between the two of you that were always at risk of being found out… the way you knew what he wanted to do to you all night long and the way he knew just how far you were willing to go to tumble away from their side… right into his embrace. Would you do anything he said just to find out how serious he was about his promises? Would you bend just to have a taste of something bad for you? 

Would you give in just for whatever abysmal chance he would allow to show you what he meant when he promised to gulp you down in the dead of night? 

“What if I do,” you began to say, eyes unwavering as you watched his eyes size you up by the minute. The sounds of the music playing inside the ballroom were long gone from your mind, knowing that you could only focus on the sounds of his haughty whisper, daring you to come closer… closer… and closer… until he snapped. You took a step in his direction, undaunted and afraid. “And, what if I don’t care?” 

He laughed, the tangled sound bouncing off the walls of the balcony you shared. “Heheheh… I think I like you a lot more when you show your true colors, party coordinator. What would those morons say if they knew you were playing right into the palm of my hand? What would they think if they knew the truth… that you’re a traitor… willing to throw them away… all because you want me?” 

Was he wrong about that? 

No. 

Unknown wasn’t wrong in the slightest. 

You came to him willingly, you told him everything he wanted to know, and you lied through your teeth anytime they asked you if you knew something about him. You were a liar, a filthy liar, and he made you feel like one in the best kind of way. Did you care about what they would think when this was all said and done with? Maybe, maybe you cared once, but you didn’t care anymore. 

You didn’t care what would happen behind you when the only thing that mattered was standing right in front of you. There was only one thing you cared about, and it was that nebulous look in his eyes that dared you to be bad. 

He grabbed you by the waist, that look in his eyes never wavering once as you fell into his embrace, and on bated breath, you sank into his arms like puzzle pieces slotting together… always meant to be one and the same. Unknown’s laughter felt like a symphony to your ears, and you couldn’t help yourself… you had to join in, laughing along to the sounds of his amusement. 

There was a desire in your heart you had to satisfy before the storm of hellfire began and you lost control with each passing second he satiated his twisted desires. 

You slung your arms around his shoulders, swaying to the music once again, falling deeper and deeper into the stormy seas of his eyes that sparkled like seafoam. The rest of the world didn’t matter to you at that point. The only thing you cared about was knowing that he would trade everything just to have a taste of your lips. You wanted that, you realized, you wanted someone to choose you over the world. It didn’t matter what happened to everyone else, as long as you had him. 

Whoever remained in the aftermath could think whatever they wanted of you… but you didn’t care if they thought you were no different than the villain in your arms. If anything, they were villains. 

They never cared about you in the first place, nobody did, they wanted you to be a replacement for another person who was long dead and would never return to them. You didn’t want to be a replacement for a dead soul. You wanted to be yourself, and if they’d realized that from the beginning… 

Perhaps, you never would’ve chosen to smile at Unknown’s whispers and leering taunts. They were the ones who drove you to it and they would be the ones to blame for their suffering. Not you nor him, the pain in their hearts was theirs to own and tolerate until the last quivering breath left their throat. 

It wasn’t your fault you wound up like this, torn and twisted from the shame, but they would pay for it all the same. 

You looked at him, praying he was watching you the same way you were studying him, “So, how long until the real party begins?” 

Unknown chuckled. You could hear the sounds of screams and shouts from behind you, and you knew at that moment that the party had started, not the one they wanted, but the one he planned right from the start. Yet, he didn’t stray from your side, nor did you with him. 

You just spun around the sound of the music and cries that came from those who would learn just what it meant to be welcomed to a paradise fit for two. 

Just the two of you. 

“Our party has only just begun, my beautiful traitor.” 

[junebugbree5]

This is more of me just getting useless info down so I don't have to try and remember it myself

Demon bluffy au:

Luffy: 5'10, only thing he wears that belong to him now are the cuffs and collar he usually steals buggys clothes since it covers him up better. Has two tongue peircings one from nami doing it and the other from buggy, Nami has done all of his ear peircings while buggy has done the bridge of his nose ones (I don't remember what they're called I'm sorry) and his eyebrow and lip peircings. Often clinging onto buggy, enjoys touching his hair / having it touching him in someway, braids it or intertwines things into buggys hair without knowing hes doing it and without buggy noticing. Extremely skittish and fearful, apologizes for everything even when he hasn't messed up.

Buggy: 7'7, used to have a devil fruit power and be a demon, still has some characteristics from when he was one. Has a semi forked tongue, pointier ears, some stripes / spots on his back and arms they're very light though, slitted eyes and sharper teeth and longer canines along with claws still. Doesn't miss being a demon likes being "human" better. Has three tongue peircings, done all by himself, and one eyebrow peircing done by luffy along with his bottom lip peircings. His earings done by multiple people over the years. Has freckles he tries to cover up, doesn't work often though. Doesn't care to cover the scar on his neck he's not embarrassed of it and doesn't care if others look at it. Is always with luffy no matter what he's doing, often helps him when it comes to self hygiene and keeping his cuts / burns clean. Is harsh and cold towards anyone but his crew and luffy and is usually the first to get them all into a fight. Refuses to admit to luffy how long he's been chasing after him.

Modern bluffy au:

Luffy: 5'9, has the ends of his hair dyed the same color as buggys hair, once had all of it temporarily dyed the same color. Usually wears one of his or his brothers shirts but covers them with his schools hoodie and has some cargo shorts on no matter the weather. Is always either in bartolomeo, bon clays, or buggys apartment or out with his group somewhere else. Did all but his nose peircings himself, only cause everyone yelled at him to get them professionally done. Wants more peircings someday but wants buggy to pick them out or do them for him. Often steals buggys shirts cause he likes how baggy they are on him or maybells old maternity shirts cause he likes how comfortable they are. Has tried to convince bon clay to get Ivan to turn him into a boy years ago, it did not work and has since forgotten about asking again to now. Doesn't drink or smoke normally but sometimes smokes weed with his brother ace. Has learned that "talk shit get hit" doesn't apply only inside buggys apartment and has had his ass handed to him many times out of the house before. Doesn't care and still continues to talk shit. Is currently trying to convince zoro into asking mihawk for his own room at their house.

Buggy: 7'3, has lilac and black highlights in his hair, never let's anyone touch his hair no matter what other then his roommates and the twins, is still very slowly trusting luffy to touch his hair. Paints his own nails and has been convinced by luffy to do matching nails with him. Usually doesn't have his left pinky attached to his hand since luffy took it and refuses to give it back, he doesn't care and isn't actively trying to get it back. Wears old merch of his circus or metal band merch with leggings never anything else unless heading out of the house then wears an old hoodie over it and some sweat. Wears a chocker luffy bought him and got annoyed that he didn't have anything back for him so gave him an old pair of spiked cuffs he used to wear, luffy keeps them safe in a box in his closet at his place. Doesn't like anyone else in the house but him luffy and his roommates, he wishes they hadn't moved there and settled down but knew it was for the best. Refuses to let luffy know he enjoys having him around and ends up coming off more hostile towards him then he means to, luffy never cares or takes it to hard when he does. Often wrestling with luffy cause he says something dumb, it's usually a 50/50 on who wins. Drinks often but never anything hard it's usually just cheap beers, used to smoke weed to help calm him down after they first moved in no longer needs to now.

[saturnsorbits]

Villain Arc

Fandom: My Hero Academia, Warnings: Gore, Torture, We're not Very Nice to Deku Here, Folks. Word Count: 0.5k.

Summary: In the aftermath of Bakugo's death, you're searching for someone to blame.

A/N: This was written in response to Chapter: 362. Re-uploading this now I'm more comfortable with my Midoriya dislike.

'Why're you doing this?' Midoriya can't catch his breath. There's blood bubbling in his throat, thick and frothy as it tries to rise past his lips. He chokes, spits red.

Considering the amount of pain he must be in, you're not surprised that Midoriya can't breathe. Not that it matters. He was in pain too...

'You're not nearly pretty enough to being playing dumb.' You say. You're calmer than you thought you'd be, but all that means is that there's no shake in your hands when you press the blunt edge of your blade to Midoriya's shoulder and slice.

Midoriya screams.

He didn't scream.

You cut him again.

'P – ple... Please. I – I couldn't.'

He's crying.

You smile.

'Couldn't what?' Tilting your head, you raise your eyebrows enough to convey interest and blink, slow. 'Live up to All Might's legacy? Fight Shigaraki? Save the man you called your best friend?'

'I tried!' A wet sob leaves Midoriya's throat. It hits the floor encased with spit and foam and blood, leaving a brilliant red streak across the concrete.

'Not hard enough.'

You've already taken his eye. Where once was an emerald is now a black hole - a bloody nothingness. He'd struggled, so the void is jagged, but that doesn't matter. The quirk-cancelling cuffs and restraint chair had kept him still enough. His arm, already broken, had been shattered then. Bending it backward over your knee had been difficult, but you'd managed. Three breaks and a fracture. You'd wanted to do more.

'There was nothing... Nothing I could – Please...'

'He would have fucking found a way... He did.' Venom drips through your words, making them taste bitter on your tongue. 'He would have saved your pathetic, snivelling ass without a second thought.' Running the knife across his shoulder, you carve a crescent into his skin. If it where to scar, which it won't, you imagine that it'd heal in the shape of an explosion. 'It makes me sick thinking that he thought he'd always be in your shadow. That he'd never be enough... He was a thousand times the man you were trying to be – even at his worst. He came so fucking far and look...' You laugh, but it's breathless. '… Look at you.'

'Kaa – Kaachan wouldn't want... He wouldn't want you to do this.'

You snort. He's right, you think. He wouldn't want any of this. He was better than this. You're just glad that he's not around to see that you're not. 'Yeah... Well being a hero did fuck all for him, didn't it.'

'Please...' Desperation pours from Midoriya's mouth and dribbles down his chin. He coughs. Self-sacrifice feels a whole lot different when you're not the one doing the sacrificing. His chest tightens, nerves screaming, but the sound is muted now. Somewhere in his stomach, he thinks he might actually deserve this.

The knife has gone warm. There was no way to tell the extent of his injuries. His body was too damaged. So you take some liberties when hacking at his stomach and chest. 'They're always... They're always using him against you and you let them. You knew, you fucking knew and you...' You try not to think about big things like blame and fault and revenge as you slice. Those only make your cuts uneven.

Screaming through his teeth, Midoriya struggles against his cuffs until he hears footsteps. Heavy boots pass just outside of the window. His heart leaps into his throat. The doorknob turns.

'Kirishima! Kirishima! I – She's using quirk-cuffs, I can't -.'

'I know.' Kirishima's iris' are almost black when they flicker up to meet Midoriya's. His hair looks longer, black roots growing through, his signature style replaced by a simple high pony-tail. There's a sleeplessness to his complexion, a purple paleness that highlights the heavy wrinkles at his eyes and mouth. He looks older, broken... Haunted.

Kirishima drops Midoriya's gaze and gestures the door with his head. 'C'mon, we'll miss the ceremony.' He offers you a small, pained smile.

The knife falls from your hand and clatters to the floor. ‘Okay.’ You swallow and bite your lip. 'Okay.' Slipping your hood over your head, you join Kirishima at the door and slip out as he holds it open.

'Kiri – Red Riot!' Midoriya pleads. 'Red Riot, you're a hero! You – you're a hero. You - .'

Kirishima shakes his head. 'Bakugo was a hero... Red Riot died with him.'

Midoriya feels his blood run cold.

Pulling up his own hood, he offers Midoriya a smile. This one is different from the last. It's sharp and full of teeth. 'See you around little hero'.

-> Masterlist

[zeggyzone]

michaelangelo / david (to carve you out the dark)

chamber/cypher (valorant) tags: mentioned deadeye | omega chamber, name changes, unreliable narrator (only for a bit!), domestic, home, comfort, references to depression, bathing/washing, non-sexual Intimacy, implied sexual content, not beta read, cyphber week 2024

synopsis:

synopsis: after crossing paths with deadeye, cypher avoids the outside world like the plague. chamber wants his lover back. day 1: domestic / "home" / comfort | mini-fic for cyphberweek on twitter!

sfw. 2.3k words.

Cypher seemed to be fine after the whole Omega incident. Amir was not.

His room, normally bleak, has accumulated a stench– a putrid mixture of cigarettes and cherry brandy–, the plates and cups are stacking, and the only thing kept somewhat clean would be his desk.

An ashtray sits to the left of his keyboard, clicking and clacking away at hours God does not consider. Cypher doesn’t even think God would be interested in what he has to offer; a sad, forty-one-year-old man's antics were probably the last thing on his mind; that’s at least what he thought.

The man sits at his desk, typing another wellness journal that Ling Ying had advised him to keep logs of during his episodes– especially after what happened a week ago. His fingers move hastily– typo after typo weaves its way into his review and he wants to claw his eyes out.

He hasn’t removed his mask in days– unless you count the occasional lift of the bottom to get to the bottom of a bottle or the end of a cigarette. Few people have checked on him. Ling Ying knocks on his door every once in a while. Han periodically brings him a plate of warm food. Hazal asked if he needed anything, to which he ignored.

However, Vincent hadn’t talked to him since the briefing.

Cypher believed that to stay the same until he ran out of painkillers, and decided he’d finally have to leave his room. Of course, he could just page Ling Ying for more, but she’d keep it on a specific dosage, and Cypher was not about to run out in a few days time. It’s not like he’d abuse the prescription– no, why would he do that?

So, he slides open the door, and he sees Vincent right outside his door, adjusting his cuff while his fist is up to knock on the metal.

Cypher’s existence is dreadful. Vincent’s is picture-perfect. Cypher feels like a child looking at him. Vincent doesn’t look at him with disgust. It’s more concern.

It’s silent. Staring. Burning.

Cypher tries brushing past his presence, “Excuse me,”

“Amir,” Vincent’s eyebrows furrow, turning in the direction he tries walking off to, reaching out his hand to grab the shorter man (not by a lot, Cypher wants to mention), from the back of his coat, forcefully hauling him back to the doorway. 

“Ow.” Cypher fusses, swatting Vincent’s hand away, turning on his shoulder to look at him. The top shutters on his eyes are angled downwards— angry. Vincent almost laughs. He was like an angry little cat. He bites back his laughter with rising concern.

“You haven’t come out in days.” Vincent begins, fixing his cuff once more, rolling his wrist. “I knock, you don’t answer—“

“You haven’t knocked,” Cypher squints, a small hiccup accentuating his already sluggish words, “You haven’t even paged me—“

“I have knocked, Amir— supposedly only when you were either so drunk you couldn’t hear a simple tap or asleep.” Vincent snaps back, arms moving to highlight the importance of his words as if they didn’t already jab at Cypher enough.

He stays silent. Vincent opens his mouth.

“… thank God I found you before you went off and did something stupid.” 

“Stupid?” Cypher retorts.

Vincent crosses his arms. “Well? What were you going to do?”

Cypher can’t just say he was going to get a bottle of painkillers from the medbay and expect Vincent not to think he was reaching to abuse it.

“Pain meds.” But he says it anyway.

“I think you’re in pain because you aren’t taking care of yourself.” Vincent rolls his eyes, one hand reaching over to push down Cypher’s hat. He flinches. The hand quickly retracts.

“… perhaps I’m too hard on you,” Vincent adds, pliantly tucking his hands into his back pockets. Amir’s shoulders untense at that movement.

“What are you going to do about it, anyway?” Cypher exhales through his nose.

“I’ll make you a meal—“

“You’ll use far too much butter—“

“— and wash the cigarette ash out of your mangy beard. But since you want to be a pain—“

Cypher rolls his eyes behind his mask, “It was a joke,”

Vincent sighs a laugh, “I know, mon coeur.” He says, passing Cypher, looking back expectantly, “You forget that I know how to banter.”

Cypher shakes his head, following Vincent without a second thought.

Their relationship was nothing friendly. Cypher hardly considered Vincent a friend. Their relationship just had benefits, is all— whatever that relationship may be. Vincent often cooked for him after their scenes; after long weeks; especially after a rough day. They hadn’t gotten together since the incident. This would be the first time.

His thoughts lead him to the kitchen with Vincent, sitting at the island while he waits for whatever buttery meal his lover (a work-in-progress title for Vincent; even Cypher doesn’t know what to call him) has prepared for him. His shoulders droop, feigning slumber. Vincent cracks two eggs into a bowl and walks over to the island to wash his hands. Cypher looks up.

“We haven’t talked since the … uh, comment dit-on, the … incident,” He exhales, drying his hands on his apron before returning to the counter, where he beats the eggs in the bowl before dipping two pieces of bread into the liquid.

Cypher clicks his tongue, “Brimstone called your strike team ‘SHATTER-02’, which I thought was incredibly unoriginal—“

“Besides the point, Amir—“ Vincent sighs, “I understand that things get bad for you, but this is terrible. You live in filth and you reek of drugs.”

He doesn’t stop there, “What happened to you was terrible. I agree. I’m here to help you come back from it.”

Especially because it was Him who did it to you, he wants to add.

Cypher rests his chin in his palm, looking at Vincent cook. Deadeye.

He shakes his head.

“Have your wounds gotten infected? Anything I should be aware of?” Vincent asks, picking up the soggy bread and putting it in a pan on the stove.

“No infections. It just hurts.” Cypher complains, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

“I’ll get you a medically recommended dose and we’ll clean you up, oui? Is that of interest to you?” Vincent asks, brow raised.

Cypher tilts his head, “Will we share your fancy cigarettes?”

“No.” Vincent squashes his expectations— probably for the best. He imagines his double used the same brand. Even though Cypher smoked them with no problem, he didn’t want to remind him of that. At least… not while he was here.

“Luxuries aside… it sounds fine,” Amir says, getting up and walking around the island to stand next to Vincent and watch him cook. He hands the spatula over, and Amir begrudgingly takes it, pushing the toast into the pan to hear the small sizzle before he flips it.

It’s quiet from then on out. Amir flips the other buttered piece of toast and hands the firstly finished French toast to Vincent, who shakes some cinnamon on the top. He finishes it off with some syrup. He does the same for the next piece of toast.

Amir watches. Vincent empties his left hand and puts his thumb through the back belt loop of Amir’s coat. He rubs— so gently.

It is removed seconds later.

Cypher exhales, previously holding his breath. Amir’s face swells up. Comfort? Contentedness? He inhales.

He’s probably hung over. That is a good explanation.

Before he knows it, the apron is off and Vincent plates the dish, gently patting Amir on the shoulder, beckoning him over to the hallway once again. Amir grabs two water bottles from the fridge before retreating with his lover.

Because he’s had a long week. And that’s it.

The trip is short, and they make it to Vincent’s bedroom now. It’s neat, a bit rough around the edges here and there, yes, but it’s in a much better state than Amir’s. His LED screen is powered on, displaying Toulouse, Paris; home to France’s Aeronautics industry– Vincent’s hometown, from what Cypher gathered.

His bed is the same as always. Navy blue sheets, an abstract comforter, and gold satin pillowcases that he had spent far too much money on, and intended to use them until they frayed. When Amir found that out, he laughed in his face.

“I’ll help you wash up, yes?” He repeats, standing in front of Amir and gently placing his hand atop his hat, looking down at him. Amir scoffs out an affirmation, pushing away Vincent’s hand. He dares not to make eye contact again. He doesn’t know who he’ll see.

“We can do it the same way we always do,” Vincent says, voice gentle and sweet.

Amir missed it.

“Can I take this off?” He asks, hand rounding the top of Cypher’s hat. He nods.

Vincent removes the hat, walking over to put it down on his bed. “Go inside and call me when you’re ready. Take your food too.”

“What, will you feed me as you bathe me?”

Vincent titters. “That was the plan, yes. Maybe I didn’t think this through.”

“But of course,” Amir jests, “you never do.”

Vincent shoos him off.

French toastless, he walks over to his drawer, carefully taking out a long pair of shorts he wore to sleep, replacing his outfit with simply that and the undergarments he was wearing. He strips off his vest and dress shirt, folding them neatly on the bed for later use.

He hears two knocks from inside the bathroom, and he knows Amir is ready.

Vincent slides the door open, quick to turn off the lights and shut the door. He knows the routine all too well. Turn off the lights.

Shut the door.

Climb behind Amir.

Vincent crosses his legs behind his lover, craning himself to align his nose with Amir’s neck, breathing him in. He laughs– he smells terrible.

“We said no kisses, Vincent.”

“That wasn’t a kiss,” a graze of his lips, “nor that.”

His lips graze behind Amir’s left shoulder, and Vincent’s nose rests just above his trapezius, leaving peppered kisses along the backside. Amir leans his head back, “You never listen.”

“Guilty as charged,” Vincent smiles against his skin. Amir gently taps his nose with the showerhead, and Vincent happily takes it, pulling the faucet knob. The shower roars to life, and cold water hits Amir’s leg, making him flinch. Vincent chuckles, adjusting the temperature to a tolerable warm.

“I’ll wash your body first,” he says, “then we’ll get to your crusty beard.”

He rubs at Amir’s stubble. Amir pulls his hand away with the same laugh bubbling in his throat.

Vincent takes an exfoliating loofah, from his shelving (when you shower in the dark, you tend to memorize where specific things need to be) and applies body wash to it, lathering in his hands before scrubbing at Amir’s back, gentle and soft in circular movements.

Amir could fall asleep, just as he almost did many times before.

The loofah makes its way down Amir’s arms. Vincent gets to his chest and memorizes where the stab wound from the previous week resided (just below his left clavicle) and avoids it, tenderly rubbing around the sides of it to avoid any discomfort on Amir’s end, even if he’d tell him if he was.

“Neck,” Vincent mumbles. Amir hums and tilts his head up so Vincent can reach. “Can you do your legs?”

“I don’t know…”

“My goodness, mon coeur.”

A laugh, cigarette befouled, “I can.”

The exchange is swift, and Vincent softly tucks Amir’s hair back to wet. “Is this okay?”

Amir stays still. An exhale.

“Just be careful.”

Vincent nods, pressing a kiss behind his ear, “Okay.”

Once Amir’s hair is completely dampened, Vincent puts down the showerhead and puts a generous amount of his expensive shampoo in his hand, carefully lathering it into Amir’s strands. He does it slowly, careful for any injury there.

“I’m done with the loofa,” Amir mutters, picking up the showerhead and rinsing off the rest of the soap from his body and the sponge.

“I can take it,” Vincent responds, taking it from the older man and placing it back on its respective shelf. He returns to massaging the soap into Amir’s head, using his fingernails to drag the grime out. “I must buy you curl product.”

“No need.” Amir responds, “They will flatten anyway.”

“At least then you’d have something to take care of,” Vincent argues lightheartedly, “allow me? Please? Just this once, mon amour?”

He knows Amir loves it when he calls him that. “Fine,” Amir sighs, “only because I know you will do it anyway.”

Vincent laughs, “Because I never listen.”

“Precisely.”

The showerhead is exchanged with a gentle tap of the shoulder, and Vincent washes the soap out of his lover’s hair, angling it so it won’t get in his eyes. He wrings it shortly after, pulling the conditioner bottle from the shelving.

“Can I wash your face for you?” Vincent asks, “While the conditioner seeps in?”

“Don’t you always do that?” Amir asks, tilting his head towards Vincent just a bit– at least, that’s what Vincent thinks with how his head moves while he rubs in the conditioner.

“Yes, but I feel as if I should ask this time around,” Vincent says, voice small.

Amir tenses.

“You may.”

Vincent rinses his hands, pulling his facewash into his hands and arranging a careful amount. Amir turns to face him. His clean hand reaches out to feel Amir’s face– every cavern, every dip, every sag of skin, and every wrinkle, carving him out of the dark like Michaelangelo to David, bringing him to life with each etch. He can imagine him in his wake. What would he do for those lights to suddenly turn on?

Nothing.

He is content with this. He is content with his Amir.

He will bathe him in the dark for years if it means he’ll get to keep him.

For whatever man he might see, he will still be his Amir.

He feels a smile on the other man's face as the other hand comes to wash.

Son Amir.

His Amir.

check out cyphberweek on twt!

as always, my socials twitter tiktok tumblr

and our valorant lore-centric discord server! we’d love to have you! 人´∀｀)