#there will be more annoying polls to follow in the days to come so stay tuned~?

[deus-ex-mona]

[joelscruff]

feelings on fire (joel miller x f!reader) 18+ PART ONE

"trying to play it coy, trying to make it disappear"

⚠️ new series alert! ⚠️ and also my 1k follower celebration!!! (altho it might as well be the 2k celebration now considering how fast my following has grown. thank you ;-;) i polled my followers a little while ago to choose between 3 different fic premises and this one was the winner! it was originally meant to be a stand alone but i'm actually more interested in making it a brand new series, so i hope you guys enjoy! i'm not exactly sure how many parts this will be yet, i'll let you know when i do. title and lyrics are from 'bad liar' by selena gomez.

summary: you're back from college for the summer, staying with your devout catholic parents in your childhood home while they order you around and try to keep authority over you. as an act of rebellion you ask your new neighbor mr. miller to teach you how to play guitar, but it turns out there's a lot more he wants to teach you. (no outbreak, no use of y/n) rating: 18+ explicit (minors, do not interact) warnings: (for this fic in general) age difference (reader is in her 20s, joel in his 50s), innocent/inexperienced reader, dirty old man joel, corruption (but it's consensual), praise kink, dirty talk, general smut, mentions of religion (reader's family are very catholic) -- (for this chapter) wet dreams, mentions of masturbation. word count: 5k ao3

The sun is warm and pleasant on your bare skin as you lay out in the freshly mown grass of your backyard, absorbing the heat and smiling languidly despite the humidity. You're grateful for your family's wealth on days like today, knowing that at any moment you could take a few steps and dive headfirst into the cool water of your pool, fresh and inviting. It's been about a month since you returned and you've spent almost every day outside among the green grass, the chlorinated water, the burning Texas sun. It's been heaven.

The backdoor suddenly swings open and your father's voice booms out into the backyard, "Family meeting," he states, loud and serious, "Five minutes."

Or hell.

With a groan you slowly sit up, hands digging into the thin towel laid out beneath you. You know better than to ignore an order like that. Being back from college for the summer has certainly had it's perks; no annoying roommates, no loud parties, a large backyard and pool to yourself, but having to deal with your parents again certainly isn't one of them. You'd thought coming back after three years might have softened them a bit, lowered their guard, made them less strict. Instead, it's almost had the opposite effect.

You slide into your flip flops and walk begrudgingly inside the house, making note of your mother standing anxiously by the stove with her arms crossed. What's the issue now? At least once a week your father calls these "family meetings", which always pertain to you and only you, seeing as you're their only child. Last week they'd spent half an hour berating you about forgetting to put the garbage out, the week before they'd tried to explain the importance of an early bed time to you, like you were seven.

You're a grown woman, a full fledged adult. Sure, you're only twenty one, you're unemployed, you're currently in the process of obtaining an arts degree that probably won't secure you anything tangible in the real world, but you're an adult nonetheless. You only have one year left of school before you can leave all this behind and start fresh somewhere else. You'd thought coming back home for one more summer would bring nostalgia and happiness, a few months of normality before life exploded in front of you.

Turns out your parents had pictured something different.

Your father gestures toward the kitchen table, urging for you to sit. You hate when they do this, make you feel small and childish while they both stand above you and reiterate rules they've had your whole life, rules that apparently you'll never grow out of. You wonder what rule you've broken now.

"We've noticed that you barely leave the house," your father begins, voice deep and authoritative, "We were under the impression that when you came home you'd be spending time with old friends, doing some volunteering again."

"Going to church," your mother adds beside him, a frown permanently etched on her face, "You've only gone twice since you've been here."

Call the cops, you think to yourself, forcibly holding back an eyeroll. Ironically your father is a police officer, and you highly doubt he'd ever come if you called.

"Instead, you just spend all your time in that backyard," he continues, nodding along with your mother, "We didn't invite you back to simply laze around all summer, there have been clear expectations you're not meeting."

You take a deep breath, feeling a hint of anger and stubbornness burning in the pit of your stomach. You shove it down, back to that secret hiding place you've cultivated throughout all these years of having to deal with them.

"I'm sorry, dad," you say, trying to sound as earnest as possible as you look to him and then your mother, "Sorry, mom."

"Sorry doesn't cut it, we need to see action," your father replies quickly, brow furrowed, "No more lounging around in the backyard on weekdays, that's a weekend activity from now on, we clear?"

You nod, "Clear."

"We want you to get involved in something," your mom takes a step forward, places her hand awkwardly on your shoulder, "Why don't you call Bethany? She's always looking for more helpers at Sunday School, or maybe Alice? I hear she's been volunteering at the soup kitchen for the summer."

You haven't spoken to either Bethany or Alice since you left for university three years ago. The thought of calling them, let alone having to work with them in either setting, makes you feel ill. You nod again, pretending to agree.

"That sounds good, I'll call them tomorrow morning," Both of your parents smile, appeased, "I think I'll go for a walk now, if that's okay. Clear my head, think about things I can do to improve."

"That's the spirit," your dad says, wrapping an arm around your mother, "Remember, be back before dinner or the door will be locked."

"I know," you nod, forcing a smile, "I won't forget."

--

Well, that's it, then. You'll have to leave.

It sounds dramatic to say that your parents telling you to get off your ass is enough to send you packing, but it goes so much deeper than that. You've spent your entire life doing everything these people say, nodding and smiling when you're meant to, apologizing for everything, doing anything you can to appease and impress them. You'd spent your high school years in youth choir, church group, organizing fundraisers, studying your ass off, tutoring, joining as many extracurriculars as possible until you had no free time. And even then, nothing ever seemed to be enough for them.

When you'd left for college they'd both cried at the airport, held you in their arms and told you with sincerity that they'd miss you so much. Your mother had kissed your face and held your hands and your father had hugged you for the first time since you were eleven years old. And because of their sudden burst of emotions, of affection, you'd actually missed them once you left. You remember you'd cried on the plane, scrolling through pictures of them on your phone until the battery died, thinking to yourself that maybe they weren't the horrible, authoritarian people you thought they were.

They called you once a week while you were at college, asking for updates, telling you they missed you, giving you neighborhood gossip that made you laugh and feel nostalgic for home. Being away from them, it was like they suddenly became two entirely new people, bonded together by their suddenly empty nest and seemingly trying to do right by you now, even if it felt a little too late. You'd thought about coming home a few times for a visit, but the memories that triggered the anger in the pit of your stomach kept you from doing so. You'd kept them at arm's length until you felt ready to come back.

And now you're back, and nothing has changed. They're the same people they always were, expecting too much of you, thinking they can control you, never quite believing that you're trying your best. You'd told them before you came that you just wanted to relax this summer, spend some time at home, maybe meet up with some old friends - keyword being maybe - and they'd seemed totally on board with the idea. There had been no mentions of keeping busy, no mentions of Sunday School or soup kitchens or rules. Then you'd arrived and realized how stupid you'd been to believe that they could ever change.

Your entire life you've been their perfect girl, their A+ student who volunteered and read bible verses and tutored the neighborhood kids, sacrificed your happiness more times than you can count for the sake of keeping them satisfied. But that's the thing: they're not satisfied, and they never will be.

Your flip flops smack against the concrete of your suburban street, sun beginning to set in the distance as you think about how exactly you're going to escape this hell. Yeah, you could just walk out the front door without a word, but it's not like you have anywhere to go or the money to do it. You have your plane ticket for your return flight back to school, but it's not 'til September and it's under your father's name. Your family might be wealthy but none of that wealth has ever gone directly into your pocket, and you doubt it ever will if you just bail on them in the middle of the night with no warning.

Your thoughts scatter when you hear someone call out your name nearby. Your head swivels and you see one of your neighbors, Mrs. Lillard, waving from her front porch. You wave back, give her a small smile.

"How's college treatin' ya?" she calls to you, taking a sip from a bottle of beer, "Got a boyfriend?"

Your cheeks warm immediately and shake your head, "Not yet!" you call back.

"I bet you're battin' 'em all away," her voice is slurred and you're sure that's probably not her first beer of the day, "Nobody's good enough for ya, huh?"

"I guess," you say awkwardly, continuing to walk and hoping she won't ask you to join her for a beer, "How's your husband?"

"Pain in my ass," she responds with a grunt and takes another swig, "Bet you can't wait to have your own white picket fence, perfect as you are."

Her words make you uncomfortable but you just give her your signature fake laugh and flip your hair, waving again, "Bye, Mrs. Lillard."

Your face falls as soon as you turn around, anger burning again. You've spent so much of your life being the picture perfect little suburban girl, doing everything your parents say, saying your prayers and reading to the elderly, killing yourself to get straight A's and only speaking when spoken to. Your reputation is widely known around the neighborhood; the sweet little girl, the pure and innocent God fearing angel. You've portrayed yourself as that girl for so long that you almost don't know which part of you is real anymore.

You keep walking down the street, eyeing the sunset as you go and wondering what would happen if you just didn't go back home tonight. As your father had said, he locks the door every night after dinner; you don't have a key, you've never had a key. You're only allowed into your house on the basis of trust and good merit. If you just refused to go back tonight, how would they react? The thought of doing something like that sends a warm flush of rebellion across your skin, eyes bright with intrigue. But where would you go?

You turn the corner and your nose is suddenly hit with the delectable scent of a barbecue, smokey and delicious. You slow a bit, closing your eyes and breathing in the warm air, stomach growling. You suddenly realize that if you don't go home tonight you'll also miss dinner. Another rule broken. You keep walking, trying to follow the scent like some kind of bloodhound. Maybe you know whoever's cooking and they'll invite you to eat with them.

A few houses down you start to hear the sound of music. There must be a party going on, a birthday or some other special occasion. It's only as you get closer to the sound that you realize it's not being played from a speaker or stereo, but from someone's front porch; a real guitar, live and acoustic.

You approach the house in question and see a man sitting on his front step, guitar in hand as he strums a steady tune. He's looking down, watching his fingers, monitoring his movements, but you see dark brown curls with hints of grey peppered throughout, a stubbled jaw line and curved nose. You slow your speed, furrowing your brow as you try to place him. You're not sure you've ever seen him before.

His music is calm and inviting, a plucky sounding tune that seems vaguely familiar. You're suddenly filled with intrigue, trying to place the song and slowing to a complete stop in front of the house without meaning to. You watch the man's callused fingers pick away at the strings, fast and professional, like he's been doing this for years. He probably has.

You're still trying to place the song, biting your lip and swiping through songs in your mind like an invisible rolodex. Johnny Cash? Bob Dylan? It sounds like one of those songs your parents would forbid you to listen to as a kid, the ones with devil worship in their lyrics, sung by bad men who didn't believe in God. You'd always questioned this logic, wondered how songs about living out in the country or falling in love could be inherently against your religion. They didn't even listen to it, just blindly told you it was against the rules.

Suddenly the man stops playing and you realize the song has come to an end. He looks up then, notices you standing there at the end of his walk with your furrowed brow and flip flops. His eyes are brown, expression startled at first but then fading into something softer as he gives you a small smile.

"Been there long?" he asks, voice crackling slightly, like he hasn't spoken much today.

You shake your head quickly, "I'm sorry, I heard you playing and I-"

"S'alright," he replies strumming his guitar absentmindedly and giving you a shrug, "I don't mind an audience."

He's southern, definitely a Texan, but you're sure you've never met him before. His face and voice are unfamiliar to you, but certainly not unwelcome. He's older, probably in his 40s or even 50s, but he's handsome and slightly boyish in a way despite his greying hair and freckled skin. He reminds you of one of those men on album covers your father had slammed down one day in the record store when you were nine, yelled at you in front of everyone that the men who made that music were filthy sinners. It hadn't stopped you from listening to them, though, curiosity getting the better of you.

Is that who you're looking at now? A filthy sinner?

"You okay?" he asks slowly, tilting his head. You realize you're just staring at him, gathering your thoughts.

You shake your head again quickly, feeling yourself blush under his gaze, "Sorry," you repeat, "I'm uh, I was just passing by and I heard you playing that song. It sounded really familiar."

He gives you a crooked smile and a nod, "Tangled Up in Blue, Bob Dylan."

"I knew it was Bob Dylan," you say, a satisfied smile spreading across your face. That song was from one of the albums you'd listened to in secret, one of the only times you'd had to delete your browser history. You feel pride swell in your chest at the smile you elicit from the man in response, like he's recognizing a fellow music lover.

"Good ear," he continues to lightly pluck at the strings of his guitar, "You play?"

"Um, not really." It's a half truth but mainly a lie, you've never played in your life. You feel slightly disappointed in yourself and you're not sure why; it's not like you've ever felt any kind of urge to learn, especially considering your parents would've made sure you only learned appropriate songs. When would you have even found the time between all your extracurriculars?

"Well, it ain't difficult," he starts playing the song again, slower this time, "Pretty repetitive chord progression, room for some adlibbin' here and there once you get the hang of it."

You nod like you understand what he's talking about, suddenly lost in the way his fingers pull at the strings, make the music come to life out of nothing. His hands are big, fingers long and thick as they curve back and forth, up and down. It's hypnotic to watch. He stops again and looks up, catches you staring.

"How old are you?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

You swallow, unsure what exactly the right answer is. Part of you wants to lie, tell him you're older than you actually are so he doesn't just see you as some bright eyed kid. This is the first person you've encountered since coming back who doesn't know who you are, doesn't know about your reputation. You could tell him anything, be anyone, and he'd take it at face value.

"I'm twenty five," you lie, but it sounds unnatural in your mouth.

He looks you up and down, eyes raking your body in a way you're unfamiliar with. Like a man. Like the way your roommates back in college get looked at, sensually and flirtatiously, being eyed up by drunk guys at the bar who only have one thing on their mind. You feel your heart begin to thrum quicker in your chest; is that really how this man is looking at you? This grown man, not a high school crush or a college fratboy, a real man?

"Sweetheart, we both know that's a lie," he says with a chuckle, eyes coming back to rest on your face, "I'd guess twenty."

You make a face, "I'm twenty one, actually."

He laughs again, putting his hands up in surrender, "My bad, twenty one."

You watch as he starts to strum once again, something new and unfamiliar. You listen for a few moments, eyes trained back on his fingers, watching him play.

"You wanna come in for a bit?" he asks, voice nonchalant, like he's asking you something completely casual.

And maybe he is, but the words make your eyes widen, your breath catching in your throat. The way he'd looked at you just then, laughed at your words, wanted to know your age... now he's inviting you into his house? You've never actually been flirted with before, not when it mattered, and you're not entirely sure if that's what's happening. But it feels like it, even though you can't imagine how someone like him could see anything sexy about a girl like you.

"...Why?" you ask quietly.

He looks up at you with another smile, still plucking the strings, "If you need to ask then maybe I read you wrong," he chuckles again, eyes trailing down your legs and taking in your short dress, the way it stops at your knees, "Now that I really look at you, maybe I'm talkin' to a good Christian girl."

"You're not," you say it too quickly, "I mean, I'm not. I'm not a good Christian girl."

"No?" he smirks, "Don't have a good southern daddy waitin' for you to come home? Momma waitin' with a pie in the oven?" he's not being serious but you feel your skin flush at the accuracy of his words.

"Maybe," you mutter, hand going down to touch your dress nervously, "But maybe I don't wanna go home."

He nods and stops plucking, licking his lips and thinking to himself. You have to admit, there's something about him that draws you to him, something masculine and new. He's much, much older than you but not in a way that creeps you out or makes you want to run away. You find yourself hoping he'll ask you to come inside again so this time you can give him the right answer, the one he wants to hear.

"You probably should," he finally says, then stands up on his porch steps and slips his guitar onto his back. The strap digs into his broad shoulders, accentuating his size as he suddenly towers over you on the step.

"Sh-should what?" you ask breathlessly, and you wonder if he can tell your heart race has picked up, see the thumping of your pulse in your exposed neck.

"Go back home," he says with a shrug, "I mean, if they're waitin' for you..."

"They're not," you say it with firm finality, shaking your head, "I'm twenty one, I do what I like."

He walks down the steps then, getting closer and closer to you until he's suddenly standing directly in front of you. His eyes cast downward, assessing your expression; you swear he looks at your lips and licks his own again.

"So would you like to come inside?" he asks again, peering down at you with a dark sense of desire that makes you swallow roughly, feel a light and steady thrum between your legs, "Let me teach you how to play that song?"

Here's your chance. Just say yes.

"N-no," you gasp, taking a step back from him, "Um, n-not today."

He smirks, almost like he knew that would be your response. He hitches his guitar up his shoulder and gives you one last smile before turning around and walking back up his steps.

"Well, I'm here if you change your mind," he calls back to you, reaching for the doorknob on his front door and peering at you with another side glance, still assessing you, "Would love to teach a pretty thing like you how to use her fingers."

You feel your lips part in surprise, an unfamiliar tingling sensation flooding your body as he gives you a wink and walks into his house, shutting the door behind him. You've still got that steady throbbing feeling in your underwear, something you've only felt a handful of times. You know what it is, you're not completely clueless, but you can't remember the last time it happened.

You take another step back slowly, heart still pounding in your chest as you stare at his closed door. Then you turn on your heel and speed walk back the way you came, flip flops slapping against the ground aggressively. You revel in the way your thighs rub together as you walk, soothing that ache.

Any thoughts of not going home have gone from your mind. You need to ask your parents who this man is. As soon as possible.

-

You get home right before dinner, giving yourself just enough time to formulate exactly how to ask your parents about the man with the guitar. You're slightly afraid that you might seem too eager, too curious, and that they'll see right through you; you can't imagine how they'd react to knowing their perfect little girl is getting butterflies over a middle aged man.

But that's what you have: butterflies. In your tummy, all over your skin, between your legs. Being talked to the way he did, being looked at the way he did, it's making you feel hot all over, itchy and uncomfortable but in a good way.

The last time you felt this way was during your first week of college, at a party you'd gone to with your roommate. You'd seen him across the room, tall and blonde, watched as he licked his lips and looked you up and down. He was gorgeous, an angel you were convinced God had placed at this party just for you. You felt that tingle between your legs, swallowed down the nervous lump in your throat and imagined what it would be like to be kissed by him.

Then he'd approached and you realized he'd been looking at your roommate the entire time.

Your mother is just beginning to plate the meal when you slip into the kitchen, taking a seat at the table beside your father. She serves you both with a smile and sits, then extends her hands to both of you.

"Bless us, O Lord, for these, Thy gifts," she begins quietly, and you quickly hang your head and close your eyes as she continues, "which we are about to receive from Thy bounty. Through Christ, our Lord. Amen."

"Amen," you and your dad echo, then begin your meal. Just the same as always.

"How was your walk?" your father asks.

Here goes nothing.

"It was nice," you say, nodding thoughtfully to yourself and hoping you sound nonchalant, "I said hi to Mrs. Lillard."

"We've been praying for her," your mom interjects immediately, "She's an alcoholic, you know."

Your mom stays on top of all the neighborhood gossip, part of the reason you feel she might know something about the mysterious man. With a nod of your head you continue, "And then I saw someone else, a man playing guitar on his front porch, but I've never seen him before."

"Oh, him" your mom rolls her eyes, "Mr. Miller. Piece of work."

Bingo.

Your eyebrows raise, intrigued, "How so?"

"Kindness, dear," your father says with a disapproving nod to your mother, "He's done nothing to us."

She sighs and shakes her head, "You're right, I'm sorry."

The conversation is definitely going somewhere but it's already taking a turn into dangerous territory; you're not one to question, to interfere or interject. Pressing them further might make them suspicious, but you have to know.

"What did he do?" you ask, trying your best to sound casual, "If you don't mind me asking?"

Your mother is about to speak but your father gives her a look, almost a warning. She closes her mouth and sits back in her chair, waiting for him to answer you instead.

"He didn't do anything," your father explains, "Your mother invited him for dinner and he declined, that's all."

"It's the way he declined," your mother sits forward again, voice curt and irritated, "He was very rude."

"Rude?" You can tell your mom wants to talk about it, dredge up something she hasn't been able to discuss for a while; you're surprised she hadn't already told you over the phone while you were at college.

"This isn't appropriate conversation for the dinner table," your father says sternly, and you're not sure if he's talking more-so to you or your mother, "End of discussion." As usual your mother folds in on herself, picking up her fork and starting to eat again.

"Your father's right," she says, though you know she doesn't really believe that, "Let's just eat."

You wonder what the man - Mr. Miller - could have said to make your mother react this way. It's not unusual for her to get stiff and bothered by people - it's pretty easy to push her buttons, actually, but the list of things that offend her is long and detailed. He could have said pretty much anything to set her off. The specifics are lost on you.

You resign yourself to defeat and eat your dinner, sincerely glad that the tingling sensations in your body have subsided. You do not need to be feeling like that with your parents in the room.

-

You dream about him.

It's muddled and confusing, taking place simultaneously back at college and in your childhood bedroom, but he's there. In both places, somehow. You're back at that first week of college party, but instead of the blonde boy it's him standing across the room, eyeing you up and down. But this time he doesn't go for your roommate, he walks over to you and looks deeply into your eyes, gives you that delicious smirk and brings his hands down to touch your waist. He's so big compared to you, so much older. He pulls you in with a strong grasp and holds you to his broad chest, runs his hands down your back.

Then you're both transported from the college party to your parent's house. You're on your bed, sitting next to him atop the covers and watching him play guitar. You watch his fingers, long and thick, hypnotizing you with their movements. He stops playing and brings one to your chin, tilts your head up to look into your eyes again.

"You're not a good Christian girl," he whispers in that southern drawl, breath ghosting across your face, inching closer and closer, "You're all mine, aren't you?"

You wake up with a start and immediately feel the dampness in your underwear, the butterflies back again with a vengeance as your pussy throbs and pulses. You've never felt anything like this before, grasping your chest and reaching for your bedside lamp in the darkness. You sit there in bed for a few moments, catching your breath and waiting for the feelings to vanish again, for your aching core to stop reminding you that it's never been touched, not once, even though you know it's absolutely begging for it.

With shaky hands you reach down and run a finger through your wet folds, shivering at the soft touch. You've never masturbated before, never had sex or anything else you've learned about from your friends at college. They'd looked at you with disbelief when you'd told them you'd never even had an orgasm; one of them had gone so far as to ask if she could give you one.

"No," you'd said curtly, "No thank you."

Now you sit on your childhood bed with your legs open and a finger pressed lightly against you within your underwear. You're not even sure what to do, where exactly to touch, how to bring yourself to completion. You're twenty one years old but you've spent your entire life being the good, pure, God fearing girl waiting for marriage like her parents taught her.

"Enough," you whisper into the darkness, "I'm done waiting."

You yank your finger out of your panties and lay back on the bed, switching off the lamp and closing your eyes again. You've already decided before you drift off that you'll be paying Mr. Miller another visit tomorrow, as soon as possible.

He told you he wanted to teach you how to use your fingers; you intend to make sure he does.

[lya-dustin]

The Last Wolf of Lankiveil

Part 2 of Queen of Light, King of Darkness ft the poll thanks to @jennathearcher @lady-phasma for the idea of the were-feyd fic

Taglist: @avidreader73 @emilykaldwen @cljordan-imperium @beebeechaos @dunefandomhub

Cw: murder, blood, lycanthropy

For all his reputation as a Beast and Count of Lankiveil, Glossu Rabban had not inherited their mother’s true nature thanks to their father’s wretched human blood.

Feyd Rautha had inherited more than just Onir Rautha's name, he had inherited his lycanthropy.

A true Beast, like those who ruled Lankiveil's icy lands before the Harkonnen's hunted them to extinction.

A shame his mother had to die to keep his true nature a mystery from his beloved uncle. As his mother’s son, Feyd will make sure her death wasn’t in vain.

The universe will be ruled by the last Wolf of Lankiveil.

And for that to happen, Paul Atreides and his wife, Feyd’s own sister-in-law had to die. He’d done away with Atreides’ pet and the bastard in her belly, and you deserved a gift as magnificent as the one you gave him that morning in Arrakis.

“We were hoping you could join us for a hunt in my son’s honor.” Feyd gives no indication of what he has planned for the Muad’Dib and the wife he refuses to even touch.

It is not that difficult; his wolf form could not be sensed, and he had received enough training to hone the abilities that would have created the Kwisatz Haderach. He can hide from their visions and escape their control completely.

“I am sure my wife longs to see her sister and our nephew again. We will be there, cousin.” Paul’s eyes hold some suspicion, but their alliance has chipped away at most of it. As far as his cousin knows, Feyd is a simple man with simple pleasures. Give him something to respect in you and a weapon in his hands and he will massacre entire planets in your name.

But the young baron is a father now and his perfect little heir can’t aspire to be his uncle’s heir when his lady mother is far more deserving of the Throne.

You, his Queen of Light, his Nurbanu, deserved the universe.

There is something other about him. Something related to his violent nature and the moon.

You had heard the rumors of the lycanthropy that plagued House Rabban, but one thing was hearing stories about the wolves of Lankiveil and another one was seeing her husband leave for a hunt on a full moon and hear a wolf’s howl unlike aby you’ve ever heard.

Irulan and Paul would be visiting some village across the forest that had myths of the Kwisatz Haderach they wanted to take advantage of.

You weren’t supposed to follow, you were supposed to stay home with Murad who would turn one year old tomorrow. But you wanted to confirm your suspicions.

You arrive at the village to find it in chaos. It had been destroyed as if something ravaged it and its people. Like a one man army.

“The Wolf of Lankiveil!” they shout in fear and adoration. “The Kwisatz Haderach has been destroyed!”

Contrary to popular belief, you didn’t hate your sister. She annoyed you and stood between you and your throne, but you didn’t hate her. And while you knew this day would come, you knew you would feel terrible for murdering her.

Feyd didn’t understand that part, he didn’t have a single positive memory of his brother nor any chance to be a friend to anyone.

You find the wolf at the edge of the village and you smile at the sight of him.

Your guards beg you to keep away, fearing what would happen if the wolf carried you off.

None recognize the blue human eyes in the wolf.

Your Feyd, your husband.

You believed yourself immune to him, that his violence would keep you from ever falling in love with him, but in the end he grew on you. Like mold on rotten fruit.

“So this is where you went off to, dear husband?” you ask the man beast covered in the blood of innocents.

Come with me.

No need to tell you twice. In a fluid movement you’ve gotten on his back and he takes off at breakneck speeds.

It is thrilling, to feel the icy wind around you as you use all your abilities to remain in place. You can hear his laugh echo in yours as you ride through the woods.

Not long after the wolf begins to shift, the fur thinning, the canine body losing its structure in favor of something human like and soon you arrive to his hideout clutching his back. You must look ridiculous piggybacking a bloody and very naked Feyd.

“Did you like your gift, wife?” his black teeth still have blood from where he tore apart his victims and the red staining his snow like skin paints a beautiful picture.

“How could I not, my baron?” you kiss his bloody mouth and show how much you love his gift, how much you love him.

Your daughter ,Asena Rautha, conceived that night, is born a wolf.

Just like her father.

[stayevildarling]

Wilhemina Venable x Reader- Fade into you

A/N: Honestly I never expected Mina to win this poll but I'm glad she did 🫶🏻 this is some soft AU Mina fluff

tw: mild mention of scoliosis, mild mention of sickness (temperature, flu), mention of pain medication, fluff

word count: 8k

taglist:

@lunaticwhittaker, @billiebeanhoward, @lanawinters-ily, @kenzbro, @minaslittleone, @httpfiftyshadesofgay , @whitelotus00 , @ninaahs , @vintagepaulson , @isle-of-earle , @paulsonsratched , @stepintomyworld , @grilledcheeseandguavajelly , @lucyintheskywithxanax , @fanfics4world , @mymiraclewitch , @hazard-to-myself , @awritersometime , @ohrwurm26 , @wastdstime ,

Wilhemina Venable was many things, incredibly smart, sassy, not afraid to hold back when someone annoyed her with their stupidity, she was an introvert, living in her own little life that she enjoyed including her routines. However she definitely wasn't outgoing, she wasn't one to consciously go to a social event, meet people voluntarily unless it was somehow included in her job for the company she works for.

And so it really was a surprise when you spotted her at the book club meeting at the library you had been working at for quite some time now. It certainly wasn't a career, but on the way to your degree, it certainly was a quiet part time job, paying the bills, while you got to be around the things you had always loved most- books. Your shift was almost finished, setting up the chairs and a little tea station for the book club meeting, people slowly drawing in from outside to discuss one of their favourite authors. And that's when you spotted her again, the mysterious woman with red hair, the sound of a cane echoing through the usual silent library following her wherever she went, as well as the color lilac that coated her beautiful features.

,,Wilhemina'' you think to yourself, your photogenic memory reminding you of her name when she first signed up a few months ago and how captivated you had been by her ever since. She was a regular at this point, at first really only coming in to get some books before disappearing again, always bringing them back on time, mostly a few days before she was meant to. Before she eventually spent every Wednesday afternoon at the library, assuming that must be her day off from work. It was undeniably a surprise to see her here tonight, as throughout the last few months you had never seen her engage with anyone before, always quiet, never exchanging too many words with you but you could see a depth behind her brown eyes that you definitely had gotten lost in a few times by now.

Through the dimly lit library, you watch as she approaches, the soft glow illuminating her features, wearing a lilac long skirt, matching jacket and a slightly darker shade collar, her heels and cane dancing on the floor, echoing through the quiet library, before more people draw in, blending out the noise. As she takes a seat, book neatly in her lap, you feel as her eyes linger on you, despite working on your tasks of neatly setting down the cups and biscuits for the book club members. While the meeting begins, you consider whether to join, having of course read the book, but deciding against it as you still had a pile of assignments to finish. However, before signing out from your computer, you decide to stay a little longer, retreating upstairs to the gallery, overlooking the library and ultimately book club meeting, typing away quietly on your computer, while still observing carefully.

Despite your best attempts, you couldn't stop glancing at the scene downstairs, hearing them chat, laugh and read some pages, your eyes always darting back to the mysterious woman named Wilhemina. And whenever your eyes averted them, focusing your attention on your screen and work again, you missed how the same mysterious woman would glance towards you, having of course noticed your absence and where you had retreated to, unaware that she was equally captivated by you. Some time passes, enough time for you to mostly finish a draft for your essay, and so glancing at the time, you collect your things, knowing you would have to do this all over again tomorrow, arrive at work for the early shift and having to balance your assignments.

After heading downstairs, you catch one last glimpse of Wilhemina, still engrossed in her book, her expression unreadable. You can't shake the feeling of curiosity about her, about what she's like beyond the surface, beyond the walls she put up around herself. As you pass by the book club members, you exchange polite smiles and nods, but your mind is elsewhere, still thinking about the redhead woman. She was like a puzzle, one you can't quite solve, a mystery waiting to be unravelled. Nevertheless you head towards home, her gaze following you as you exit the library, wanting to urgently catch up on some rest before returning tomorrow.

As the sun begins it's descent, casting a warm golden glow over the city, you find yourself once again at the library, preparing for another day of work. Today is Wednesday and for some reason you can't shake the anticipation of seeing Wilhemina again. Her presence lingers in your thoughts since last night, her mysterious aura captivating your mind.

The clock ticks closer to the afternoon, and it's no surprise as you hear the familiar sound of the library door opening, heels and a cane tapping softly against the flooring. There she is, Wilhemina Venable, stepping into the quiet sanctuary of books. Her lilac attire stands out against the muted colours of the library, her presence both ethereal and comforting.

,,Good afternoon Ms Venable'' you greet her as she approaches your desk, your features soft. She carries a stack of books in a bag, before retreating them one by one and passing them to you, including her pass with an equally warm smile ,,Good afternoon'' she greets you.

,,Returning these?" you ask softly, internally scolding yourself as it was quite obvious that she was returning those. The redhead woman nods, causing for a rush of nervous energy to course through you.

,,Not much of a crime fan?'' she startles you as you scan her pass, the woman pointing towards the book you had been reading next to your computer. Your eyebrows furrow, before she speaks again ,,I couldn't help but notice your absence last night'' she fills you in before your mouth forms an O shape in realisation of her words.

,,Oh, I.. I had some work to catch up on'' you reply, a hint of sheepishness in your voice. ,,Essays and assignments, you know how it is''. As you speak she listens intently to your every words, reading each one of your expression as if she was equally studying you like some book. As if she wanted to read every page, unravel each little thing about you.

The woman simply nods understandingly as you pass her back her library pass, a glint of something in her eyes, a curiosity that mirrors your own. ,,Perhaps next time'' she suggests, her lips quirking into a small smile. As your surprised eyes meet hers, the shock of her invitation quite literally written across your features, she is quick to add ,,It's always nice to have a new perspective in the discussion'' causing you to quickly force a polite smile.

,,Definitely Ms Venable'' you assure, feeling a sense of warmth spread through you at her words. You watch as she leaves, retreating to the usual shelves of books that must be her favourite genre to read before she disappears in the maze of the library, the countless shelves, thousands of books and people blending in the darkness of the library, despite the soft glow around, mixed with the beginning sunset.

The atmosphere in the library feels charged with the energy of the woman's presence, her departure leaving you with a sense of longing and curiosity. You can't help but wonder what it would be like to spend more time with her, to unravel the layers of mystery that surround her. As the day goes on, you find yourself lost in thoughts, your mind wandering back to the woman. Despite the tasks of shelving books and helping people, her image almost vividly lingers on your mind, her lilac presence haunting your thoughts.

When your shift finally comes to an end, closing up for the night before heading out the library, the golden rays of the sun setting, cast a long shadow on the sidewalk. As you make your way home, you can't help the feeling of excitement that bubbles within you, the prospect of seeing the woman again, filling you with anticipation.

The days pass by in a whirlwind of work, study and the occasional thoughts of Wilhemina. Each day, you find yourself eagerly anticipating the next book club meeting, the woman lingering in your mind like a sweet melody. As the week progresses, you make sure to read up on the book that the club will be discussing, spending your evening lost in it's pages, in the world of the story, eager to be prepared for the discussion.

Finally, the day of the book club meeting arrives, again stacking up the little tea and biscuit table and setting out the chairs neatly. It doesn't take long before the usual group of book club members gather, chatting animatedly amongst themselves. You spot Wilhemina sitting in her usual spot, book tugged on her lap in the same usual way. Taking a deep breath, you join the group, feeling a sense of belonging wash over you as you take your seat. The discussion begins and you find yourself eagerly participating, sharing your thoughts and insights on the book.

As the evening progresses, you find yourself drawn to the redhead woman sitting across from you, the two of you occasionally exchanging glances and subtle smiles as the conversation flows around you. You could tell she wasn't too pleased with one of the members, named Karen who's opinions are definitely controversial, noticing the grip around her cane tighten whenever the woman spoke and even the occasional eye roll, going unnoticed by the group but not you, ever perceptive. You find yourself chuckling silently at her antics, taken back by the captivating redhead.

After the meeting comes to an end, you find yourself reaching for a little to go cup and filling it with some tea, knowing the journey home would be longer today, considering you missed your usual bus connection. While the noise from the members leaving, slowly draws out, you are a little startled as you hear cane taps echo behind you, causing you to turn around and catch a glimpse of Wilhemina. ,,I'm glad you could make it'' she remarks, giving you a warm smile before the two of you opt for walking out together. ,,Thank you Ms Venable'' you remark, your heart beating fast and loud against your chest as the two of you make it out of the quiet library and into the jungle of the city, filled with noises and cars and people rushing past you both.

,,Usual shift tomorrow?'' she questions curiously, her brown eyes meeting yours. ,,Yes'' you confirm with a warm smile, before she nods. ,,See you tomorrow'' she remarks before the two of you part ways with a polite nod. You linger for a little longer, watching as she disappears into the crowds, before turning on your heels and making your way home, the puzzle pieces finally adding together. Tonight you had learned that just like you imagined, she was incredibly smart, she didn't speak all that much during the meeting but whenever she did, she managed to read and study the characters and story in a fascinating way, her words chosen with a depth that touched you. And you also learned that she was polite with you, however not holding back her disapproval of some other members who spoke much less composed than her, much less smart and engaged than her.

As the following day at the library unfolds, you find yourself stealing glances at Wilhemina whenever you can, your mind swirling with thoughts of the captivating redhead. Despite the steady flow of people coming in and out of the library, she remains in her usual spot, engrossed in a book.

You can't shake the feeling that you want to talk to her, to engage in conversation beyond the usual polite greeting you exchange. But a nagging voice of doubt in your mind holds you back, reminding you of the professional boundaries you should maintain. You had no idea of the woman she was outside of the library, the life she was living, the possibility of people in that said life and her relationships, not wanting to burden her with your presence.

Yet, as the afternoon wears on and the library grows quieter, the urge to speak to her becomes overwhelming. You find yourself making your way over to her corner, your heart beating a little faster with each step. ,,Ms Venable'' you start, clearing your throat nervously as you approach her. She looks up from her book, her brown eyes meeting yours with a curious gaze.

,,I hope you don't mind me interrupting you'' you continue, trying to sound casual despite the butterflies in your stomach. ,,I couldn't help but notice you've been reading quite a bit lately, are you enjoying the book?''

The woman's lips curve into a small smile, and she nods then. ,,Yes it's been quite... captivating'' she replies. ,,In fact, I was wondering when the second part of this series is expected at the library''

You feel a wave of excitement at her question, grateful for the opportunity to engage in conversation with her. ,,Oh, let me check that for you'' you say eagerly, disappearing for a moment as you pull up the library database on your computer. After a quick search you find the information she is searching for, before returning.

,,It looks like the second part is due to arrive next week'' you inform her, glancing back up to meet her gaze. ,,Would you like me to reserve a copy for you?'' Her smile widens at your question, before she nods appreciatively ,,That would be wonderful, thank you'' she replies. ,,I'll definitely be looking forward to it''. Walking towards your desk again, she follows you, her library pass needed to finalise the reservation. ,,Thank you Miss-'' she begins, but you quickly interrupt her ,,it's Y/N'' you offer and she nods before smiling at you ,,Wilhemina''.

A few days pass, and as Wilhemina returns to the library, she notices your absence behind the desk, figuring it must be your day off today. She settles into her usual corner with her book, the familiarity of the library's surroundings providing her comfort. The truth was the redhead never had a lot of free time, mostly only her evenings, her career as HR demanding both physically and mentally. She eventually demanded a regular day off per week, wanting to focus more on herself, getting a decent hobby besides reading every night when she returned while the history channel played in the background. And so she had opted for the local library, reading about the book club meetings and regular events and she had enjoyed it ever since, despite not being the outgoing type.

As you step into the quiet space, your eyes find your coworker first, Janice, she was considerably older, should have retired by now but enjoyed working there regardless. You fall into some easy conversation with her, as she scolds you for showing up on your day off but telling her you just had some quick business. Wilhemina can't help but notice your presence, the sight filling her with a sense of warmth and you can't help but smile as you approach her.

,,Hi'' you greet her, your voice soft, yet filled with genuine warmth. ,,I hope you don't mind me stopping by on my day off'' you announce. Wilhemina looks up from her book, surprise flickering in her brown eyes before a small smile graces her lips. ,,Not at all, it's a pleasant surprise'' she admits, setting her book aside. ,,Is everything alright?'' she asks almost with a hint of concern in her features.

You nod before speaking ,,I just came by because I have something for you'' you explain, feeling a rush of nervous energy course through you, before retreating a book from your bag. ,,Is this?'' she questions, her eyebrows furrowing. ,,Yes it's the second part, I managed to get my hands on a copy a little early'' you explain as you pass it to her.

Her facial expression changes from a warm smile to almost an unreadable one and you worry whether you had upset her somehow, whether you had crossed a boundary with her. ,,Thank you, I appreciate it truly'' she thanks you, unaware that her reaction was due to her feeling deeply touched but the redhead woman not used to anyone going out of their way in order to do something for her.

,,Would you like to take a seat? that's if you're not busy?'' she offers, pointing towards the chair across from her. And you take it, sitting down opposite her. ,,What kind of books do you enjoy?'' she asks curiously.

And so, the two of you engage in a lively conversation about books, exchanging recommendations and discussing your favourite genres and authors. You quickly learn that Wilhemina enjoys both history books, as well as mystery and crimes, even the occasional romance and horror book. As you talk, you find yourself drawn to her passion for literature, her insights and recommendations sparkling your own curiosity. Before you know it, time seems to slip away, the library around you growing dimmer as the sun begins to set.

,,I'm sorry to interrupt, but I'm just closing up'' Janice informs you both, startling the two of you a little. ,,Of course'' Wilhemina remarks, the two of you quick to retreat your things. ,,Do you need any help closing up?'' you ask politely before your coworker chuckles ,,No darling, it's your day off'' she speaks before ushering you out. Wilhemina can't help but think about your kindness, as the two of you part ways, deeply touched by the gesture of you getting the book early for her.

Another week passes, and you find yourself in the all too familiar library, logging out of your computer before getting ready to close up, as you gather your things, you are startled when you hear the all too familiar sound of a cane and you instantly turn around as you watch the redhead approach. ,,Wilhemina'' you greet her politely, as you watch her glance around the empty library. You watch her eyebrows furrow before you recall the reasoning for her being there ,,Oh I'm so sorry, did you not get the memo?'' you ask, glancing at the note that explained this weeks meeting was cancelled due to the usual person running it being sick. She glances at it as well, scolding herself for not signing up for the newsletter that you had recommended, as she didn't want any spam emails. ,,No, I'm sorry'' she chuckles, her cheeks coated in a slight red. ,,I was just going to close up'' you announce and she joins you as the two of you walk outside and you locking all the doors.

,,I'm really sorry you came here for no reason'' you apologise, frowning a little as you feel bad. ,,It's fine'' she speaks softly as she takes in your features and notices some hesitation on your face ,,I don't suppose you-'' you begin but quickly stop yourself, fighting the rest of the words back as doubts fill your mind. She tilts her head curiously at your statement, her eyes encouraging you to go on ,,Do go on'' she speaks as her brown eyes pierce through you. ,,Would you like to get some coffee?'' you ask, quickly adding ,,We could talk some more about the book then, have our own little meeting you know?''. As you struggle with your words, covering up for the fact how nervous you are she can't help but smirk ever so slightly, as you avert her eyes. ,,I would love to'' she speaks, taking you by surprise as your shocked eyes meet her own.

As Wilhemina agrees to join you for coffee, you feel a rush of excitement and nerves coursing through you. The thought of spending time with her outside of the library fills you with both anticipation and a hint of anxiety. The two of you make your way over to a nearby cafe, the cool breeze of the evening refreshing against your skin as you walk and chat along the way. Once inside, you find a cozy corner and settle in, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filling the air.

As you begin sipping your drinks, you find the words flowing naturally between you and the redhead. ,,So what did you think of the last book club meeting?'' you ask, trying to gauge her thoughts.

Wilhemina takes a thoughtful sip of her coffee before responding ,,It was interesting, to say the least. I always find it fascinating to hear different interpretations of the same story, you know?''. You agree nodding, ,,It's amazing how people can read the same book and come away with completely different perspectives'' you remark.

She smiles then, her eyes sparkling with intrigue ,,Exactly, that what makes literature so captivating, don't you think?''. You agree again ,,Definitely'' you reply, feeling a sense of excitement building between you two.

,,Although I couldn't help but sense your annoyance towards Karen'' you chuckle before her eyebrow shoots up in surprise. ,,Ugh don't even get me started'' she remarks, causing you to chuckle further.

,,So, what are you currently reading?" you ask curiously, before she leans back in her chair, a small smile playing on her lips. ,,I'm delving into some classic literature at the moment, as well as the second part of the book you got me, It's always been a passion of mine'' she explains as you listen intently to her every word.

,,That sounds fascinating'' you comment, genuinely interested. ,,I have always wanted to read more classics, but I never seem to find the time'' you admit. ,,Well if you ever need any recommendations, you know where to find me'' she says with a wink, and you can't help but chuckle at her playful tone.

,,So tell me a little bit more about yourself Y/N'' she ushers and you could tell she seemed much less tense, much less formal and taken back the way she usually was at the library.

,,I- well I study at university at the moment, close to finishing my degree and I work at the library part time, I live close-by actually'' you explain, a little unsure what she actually wanted to know.

The conversation continues to flow effortlessly, as you fill her in on what you are studying, your age, the things that you enjoy. She tells you about the company she works for, that she also lives close-by. With each passing moment, you find yourself drawn deeper into Wilhemina's world, feeling a connection growing between you that you can't quite explain yet.

Despite knowing you shouldn't, you can't help yourself and so the words quite literally blurt out of you ,,So what about you, are you in a relationship, married?''. Her eyes widen before she chuckles lowly ,,Me married?'' she scoffs then ,,Definitely not, dear'' and you can't help the blushing of your cheeks or ignoring the smirk playing on her features. ,,You?'' she asks curiously before you shake your head, feeling almost a little shy.

After some more conversation about your lives, the library and literature, the two of you part ways, both needing to head home for the night as you realised it was getting late. ,,It's been lovely'' you remark, causing the redhead to nod in agreement. ,,I feel the same way, We should do this again sometime'' she remarks, causing you to again blush under her gaze. ,,I would like that'' and with those words the two of you part ways.

On your way home, you can't help the big smile lingering across your face and spreading across your features. You feel yourself considerably drawn closer to the redhead woman, especially after learning more about her, your first instincts correct about her as she was utterly smart, even poetic at times and lovely to spend your time with. The fact that she wasn't taken only adds to your excitement, despite you not being able to ignore the almost self loathing way she answered your question and you quickly brush the thought away, assuming she couldn't see you in that way, despite the butterflies in each others stomach telling the opposite, but you totally unaware that she shared the same interest and feelings yet.

Within the next few months, the seasons slowly changing, both you and Wilhemina had grown closer, not only making the weekly book club meetings a thing but evenly your usual book chatter over coffee, weekly when your schedules allowed it. And you enjoyed it, feeling like becoming her friend, despite not being able to ignore the way your heart both beat and ached for her. You felt yourself drawn close to her, often awake at night wondering what it would feel like to hold her hand in your own, what it would feel like to be held in her arms, what it would feel like to capture her lips into your own. What it would be like to belong to her, to be hers but you knew it couldn't happen, your hopeless romantic side truly showing and the fact you had read too many romantic novels lately. You were unaware that the redhead felt equally drawn to you, a small voice in the back of her mind telling her that she shouldn't, that you are too young, too free to commit yourself to her and the burdens she carried with her.

Despite the love you felt for each other, neither of you felt like voicing it, or making a move and so it became the quiet love. Glances exchanged, her eyes meeting yours when you are working and stocking shelves with books, her eyes following as you balance on your tip toes with such ease to complete your task. Knowing glances at the book club meetings, knowing afterwards for your coffee date, you would make fun of Karen. And it remained a quiet love, sharing glances, falling into easy conversation, feeling complete when the other one was nearby. The only time when you grew hopeful had been a few days ago, when the rain was pouring down on you both after her usual afternoon at the library and you locking up, how she offered to drive you home, not wanting you to get caught in more rain and having to take public transport and you agreed reluctantly but she insisted, she drove past her house, pointing out that she did indeed live closely before dropping you off. But that was it, and despite you considering inviting her to your apartment, you felt like you couldn't, still thinking you had been reading this wrong and slowly accepting having her as a friend, a person to look out for and would equally look out for you.

However, when almost another week passed, not seeing Wilhemina at the book club meeting or her usual afternoon at the library, you grew increasingly worried. She never missed one of those, only having to miss the book club meeting once before for a work commitment and she let you know beforehand. And as you pack up tonight, you couldn't shake the anxious feeling in your bones and running through your veins. The rational side of your brain was telling you that she was probably caught up with work, given her career, or she simply didn't feel like it today. However your heart told you something was off, texting her in the afternoon after you had exchanged numbers a few months ago and frequently texting back and forth about books and other things.

Opting to walk home tonight to clear your thoughts, letting the sun slowly setting, illuminate your features, breathing in the fresh but cold air, your thoughts trail around her. What if she had given up on the book club and library? What if something was wrong with her? What if she needed something? You couldn't shake the thoughts as your brain kept circling around the same questions and when you turn into a now familiar street, you pass her house, internally scolding yourself as your heart probably led you there on purpose. And you know you shouldn't, despite feeling much closer to her than at the start, it felt wrong to simply show up unannounced, maybe she even had company. But you couldn't just walk past the house and so you carefully approach her front door, making sure you got the right house but by the name on the doorbell printed in purple it quickly confirms that it was in fact her house.

Carefully you knock on the door, waiting for a few moments but not hearing an answer and so you turn on your heel, figuring she must simply be busy or still at work. However just before you are out of reach, you hear the front door open and turn around quickly only to see her standing there, your eyebrows knitting in concern as you see her state. Her nose was red, eyes tired and even a little watery and for a moment you fear she had been crying before her voice breaks through the quiet air ,,Y/N?'' she asks, the sound of her voice broken and you could tell then that she had fallen ill. ,,I'm so sorry Wilhemina for just showing up like this but-'' you stop yourself then, trying to put your words in order and not embarrass yourself. ,,I was worried not seeing you yesterday or today and I just felt the urge to check on you'' you explain, checking her features but they remain neutral. ,,I'm sorry if I'm overstepping'' you quickly apologise before she gives you a comforting smile.

,,You're fine Y/N, I'm sorry I-'' she begins to speak but another wave of nausea and the lingering fever knocks the words from her lungs. ,,Are you okay?'' you ask, concerned etched on your features ,,You don't look so well'' you remark, taking a step closer as her expression grows a little paler. She simply opens the door, offering you to follow her before she is quick to walk back over to her sofa, several empty tissue packets on the floor, before she slumps back into the sofa, the exhaustion creeping up on her. ,,I seem to have fallen ill'' she remarks, scrunching up at the statement, as she hated admitting weakness, despite you not seeing it as weakness at all. As you glance around her house, you can't help but notice how both comfortable, clean and beautiful it was, several houseplants, a luxurious spacious kitchen, a lot of purple and lilac details and artwork and you are sure to have seen some cat toys lying around as you stepped inside.

,,May I?'' you ask carefully as you step closer and she simply nods and watches as the back of your hand reaches for her forehead, gasping as you notice the lingering fever. ,,Do you have a thermometer somewhere?'' you ask carefully and she nods, before pointing towards a cupboard. Without any words, you make your way over, seeing the many pain medications and ignoring that before retrieving the thermometer. It feels like an eternity as you gently usher her to open her mouth and she reluctantly complies, feeling too exhausted to argue as she usually wouldn't allow anyone to do any of this ever. Once the beeping rings through the room, it confirms your suspicions and you glance at her as her eyes softly close, sleep washing over her. ,,I'll be right back'' you whisper softly, before walking back into her hallway, reaching for the set of spare keys dangling on a nearby wall. You aren't sure if you are overstepping still but you didn't care, her health and wellbeing more important to you than any of that right now.

And it doesn't take long before you usher home for a moment, getting some supplies before stopping at a nearby pharmacy and your usual take out place. You return a little while later, placing the keys back where you had gotten them before placing the medication gently on the table where she was still sleeping. In a swift motion and without going through her stuff, you tidy up a little, getting rid of the tissues everywhere, doing some dishes that she must have not had the strength to clean, before you watch a little black cat approach, rubbing it self near the wall leading into the kitchen. ,,Hi there'' you smile as you bend down carefully and hold out your hand. He melts right into your touch as you stroke him carefully, noticing his bowls and searching for some food and water and filling it, before emptying the litter box nearby.

When Wilhemina awakens next, she watches you from afar, praising the thing closest to her heart for finishing his food, even playing a little and her heart melts at the picture. ,,Y/N'' she calls out, glancing around the room and you are quick to walk over to her as she attempts sitting up. ,,Hi there'' you greet her warmly before passing her a glass with water and some medication. ,,Here'' you offer and her brown glassy eyes look up to meet your own. She takes it before glancing around her living room and kitchen, noticing how it was spotless, her heart melting at the gesture, despite feeling like it's a little too much considering she didn't know how to accept the help, let alone ever thank you for it. And you can see it in her brown eyes, knowing her long enough now to know she felt uncomfortable ,,I picked up some soup for you, you can take these every 4 hours'' you announce gently before reaching for your bag. You smile warmly at her and she gives you a thankful smile before you walk out of the room, offering that she could call if she needed anything at all. ,,Bye little fellow'' you give her cat one last stroke before walking out her door, content with at least having checked in and looked after her.

The next few days you continue going on about your days, both working at the library and on your days off working on some assignments and going to your lectures. It had worried you that Wilhemina hadn't reached out to you yet, hoping she was feeling better and at the same time worried you may have overstepped or upset her in some way. You find yourself, both daydreaming and lost in thoughts as you stock up some shelves, thinking about a book in particular that you held and how she would probably love it. A sound startles you and as you turn around you knew your mind wasn't playing tricks on you as you were sure you heard the echoing of her cane. ,,Wilhemina'' you remark, your features instantly filled with joy as you see her looking much better than a few days ago. ,,Are you feeling better?'' you ask as her eyes meet your own. ,,I do, thank you'' she smiles warmly at you before noticing something lingering behind her brown eyes, her lips twitching a little, knowing it meant there was something on her mind.

,,Is everything okay?'' you ask after a moment of silence, noticing her hesitation and the grip around her cane tightening. ,,Why did you-'' she stops herself then, her eyes closing unsure how to finish her question. ,,I'm sorry if I overstepped, I just wanted to make sure you are alright'' you apologise again. There is a moment of silence before she speaks again ,,But why did you?'' and it breaks your heart a little, knowing just what she was thinking, how no one ever probably has looked after her and all you want to do is give her the biggest hug. ,,Because I care about you Wilhemina'' you admit, the admission coming out quiet, almost whispered as you meet her eyes. And then you see the surprise in her eyes, as if your actions didn't make it obvious, as if she was oblivious to your feelings and the way you look at her.

Wilhemina's eyes widen in surprise at your words, as if she hadn't expected such a heartfelt confession. For a moment, the air around you feels heavy with tension as she processes your admission.

,,You care about me?'' she repeats, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes searching yours for any hint of insincerity. You nod at her statement, feeling your heart pounding in your chest ,,Yes I do, I- I've grown to care about you a lot'' you admit, despite the voice in the back of your head telling you to stop.

A mix of emotions flicker across her face – surprise, disbelief, and perhaps a hint of vulnerability. You can see her struggling to find the right words, her fingers tightening around her cane again. ,,I don't know what to say'' she finally admits, causing for a lump to form in your throat. ,,It's okay'' you reassure, avoiding her gaze as you glance at the front and noticing a little line forming by where you are meant to be sitting. She glances behind her as you apologetically nod at her and quick to resume your work. Her eyes don't leave yours for a second, feeling awful for the way the conversation went and not being able to tell you that she was truly grateful for what you had done for her. But she couldn't stay as it wasn't her usual afternoon and she had to catch up on some work, and so with a heavy heart she leaves, glancing at you one more time while you check out some customers, pretending not to see her as she glances at you one more time, sure you would cry if you took another look at her in this moment.

On her way out, her words and your reaction replay in her mind over and over again, contemplating whether to turn on her heels, apologise, anything to make this better. But she couldn't as she had to go back to work, despite the thoughts lingering on her mind until the next day. Wilhemina wasn't sure what to think of your statement, she truly didn't mind you coming to her house, appreciating the gesture and the cleaning up you did as well as looking after her cat as the sickness caused her to lose the ability to do so. But she wonders what this was, were you simply friends? Wilhemina never really having friends in her adult life before as she prefered to spend her time with herself and her cat. Or was it more? the woman definitely wasn't oblivious and not a stranger to love and romance and she knew what your admission meant, in her heart anyway, despite her head and rational side reminding her you couldn't have possibly meant it that way but she felt horrible, wanting to talk this out with you as the thought of losing to have you around truly killed her and caused for anxiety to fill her usual calm and composed mind.

As she makes her way to the library, her eyes search around the quiet space, members of the book club already meeting and finding your coworker Janice rather than your usual presence. Despite a part of her not really wanting to do this, she approaches the older woman, remembering her well from some book club meetings and around the library. ,,Hi there'' Janice greets her, remembering the redhead quite well and you sometimes mentioning the woman to her. ,,Hello'' Wilhemina greets her, her features a little tense before she speaks quietly, wanting to make sure the other people don't hear ,,Is Y/N not working today?'' she asks causing the older woman to shake her head no. ,,Poor darling called in sick today'' she admits, before Wilhemina's features tense a little further. ,,I see, thank you'' she remarks before turning on her heels and getting ready to leave. ,,Aren't you staying?'' Janice asks a little confused, knowing the redhead to be a regular member of the meetings by now. ,,No- I uh.. have some other commitment'' she remarks before leaving, her cane echoing through the silent library.

Now you weren't truly sick, just not feeling like going to work today, considering the countless assignments piling up on you and feeling the strange urge to avoid Wilhemina. After yesterday, your heart had broken a little, feeling shame even at hearing her words, unaware that she simply struggled with these things. Your brain had somehow tricked you to believe that she didn't care for you in the way that you cared for her and that you had made an utter fool of yourself and so you opted for staying home, not being in the mood to go through the torture of a whole book club meeting on top of it all. Sitting on your sofa, cross legged, laptop tugged into your lap, you type away, working on an essay that was due next. You are startled when you hear the sound of a knock coming from your apartment door, assuming it's a neighbour, before opening the door.

As your eyes lay on Wilhemina you gulp, expecting a few things but not her showing up and confused as to how she would have gotten upstairs, unaware that a neighbour was just leaving and she slipped inside. ,,Wilhemina?'' you ask a little confused, your cheeks coated in red considering the state you are in, messy bun, sweatpants and an oversized hoodie. It takes her a moment to recognise you as she really hadn't seen you like this before, usually always dressed well and hair styled perfectly. ,,I heard you aren't feeling well'' she remarks, before holding out a lilac shopping bag and passing it to you. ,,Thank you'' you smile warmly at her, the bag exposing some type of food in a container and a book and your heart melts at the gesture, unable to form any words.

,,Would you like to come inside?'' you offer before she declines politely ,,I'll leave you rest but let me know if you need anything?'' she asks before you nod eagerly, thanking her one more time before you watch her walk away. As you close the door, you lean against it for a moment, letting out a breath that you held in for a while, feeling relief that she didn't actually come inside as your place was a right mess. Carefully, you walk over to your sofa, putting the container and book on your sofa table, before taking a look, exposing the same soup that you had gotten for her before, feeling your heart ache and beat faster at the sweet gesture. Retreating some headphones, you listen to some music, while finishing your essay, finishing the soup in the meantime. After several hours, you take a look at the book and you had never heard of it, remembering the author from your work at the library but never reading his works before.

As you open the book, you check the first page for a library stamp but there is none, meaning she must have either purchased it or it belonged to her. ,,For Y/N- Love, Wilhemina'' it reads and your heart melts again at the sweet gesture. For the remainder of the night you get lost in the book, a book about two characters, one more mysterious as the other one, captivated by the similarities and the poetry. As you read countless pages, the darkness of the night already consuming the world around you, your heart begins beating a little faster as you begin understanding the true meaning of the story, and how the main character had been afraid to commit, afraid to allow the other ones feelings despite feeling the same way and it startled you. Quite literally shaking you awake as your eyes fly over the written words, wondering whether this was her way of telling you, despite the rational side of your brain still trying to convince you that this had been some kind of accident.

For the remainder of the night, you lay awake after finishing the book, some words lingering and repeating on your mind, your thoughts trailing back and forth to Wilhemina, wanting nothing more than to talk to her, thank her for the book and ask her about it's true meaning but you couldn't as it was the middle of the night. And so you try to find some sleep, despite it being broken, before the morning sun washes over your apartment, causing you to wake, your thoughts instantly lingering around the redhead. That morning, you are very early at the library, opening up hours before it would even open, unable to do anything else at home as your thoughts kept circling and you wanted to desperately distract yourself.

A few hours pass, where you lose yourself in your passion, unboxing a few new shipments with books and neatly placing them in the shelves, also working on a new display shelves with some monthly book recommendations. You are startled when you hear one of the doors opening before politely shouting ,,Sorry still closed, we open in about thirty minutes'' while bending down. However as you hear the all too familiar cane taps and heels echoing, you are quickly on your feet, glancing around the corner and noticing Wilhemina's presence, her features soft as she makes her way over. ,,Closed? even for me?'' she chuckles a little, causing you to blush. ,,Definitely not'' you remark before walking over, now a few steps apart from the redhead.

,,Would you like some coffee or tea?'' you ask politely before she finds herself smiling again ,,Coffee please'' she requests and you nod, offering her to sit before you retreat to the back room and making some coffee for the two of you. A few moments pass before you make your way over, by now knowing how she takes her coffee and passing her the warm mug. ,,I take it you are feeling better?'' she questions and you nod before speaking ,,Thank you so much for the soup and- the book'' the last two words more quiet as they fall from your lips. As the steam from the coffee forms little patterns in the air, she studies your features before carefully speaking ,,Did you get a chance to-'' but you are quick to cut her off ,,I read it'' you reassure before her eyes meet yours ,,The whole thing?'' she questions, a little taken back as you nod.

Silence fills the quiet library, not necessarily an unpleasant one, the two of you simply lost in thoughts, eyes still locked onto each other. ,,What made you choose that one?'' you ask curiously, your hand reaching around the mug soaking in the warmth it provides. ,,I like the message'' she admits, still keeping your gaze. ,,Want to tell me about your interpretation?'' you ask, almost causing her to smirk a little as the two of you often studied books and their true meanings together. ,,What was yours?'' she asks, wanting to make sure you got the silent message and her confession. ,,I think it's about two characters that fall in love, a silent love though, one where one is utterly in love with the other but the other one struggles to admit their feelings, preferring a love in silence while the other one wants to shout it from the rooftops'' you explain, losing yourself in the meanings of the words a little.

Her eyes close then, understanding and relieved that you got the message and as your eyes meet again you speak again, your words hushed and quiet ,,Is that why you gave it to me?'' you question ,,Because you care about me too?''. As the words flow from your mouth, your hands begin shaking, unsure where this sudden boost of confidence came from but your brain ultimately telling you that this wasn't a coincidence anymore. ,,I do Y/N'' she finally admits, her eyes sparkling a little as you notice her posture much less tense than before, her features almost seeming relieved at the admission of her feelings. ,,I never thought you would like me too'' you admit, almost in that same self loathing way she had once spoken about herself. ,,Hey'' she tries softly, before reaching for your hand and holding it in place. ,,Of course I do'' she reassures, tilting her head to the side a little.

Your silence and peace is interrupted when a few people enter the library, causing you both to pull away, before you stand up, walking over to some people standing by your desk wanting to return some books. Wilhemina watches in quiet awe and adoration at your movements, your politeness and she feels her heart fluttering in her chest. As people leave again, slowly more people walking inside, she walks back over to you, hovering beside you before you glance up at her ,,What's going to happen now then?'' you ask curiously, your cheeks coated in a slight red shade. ,,How about we start with dinner tonight, little one?'' she offers, causing you to blush at her statement even more. ,,I would love that'' you admit before your attention is needed working again. And for the remainder of the day, Wilhemina chooses to stay in your company, stealing glances at you as you go about your tasks with practiced ease. The excitement for the evening ahead lingering on your features whenever you lay eyes upon each other.

[xxsycamore]

LATE AUGUST NIGHT TRYST

↬  You have a one-night stand with Napoleon.

Napoleon Bonaparte x gender neutral!Reader • rating: E (MDNI) • tags: One Night Stands; Lap Sex; Alcohol; Smoking; Making Out; Kissing; Neck Kissing • wordcount: 2,580 • masterlist

a/n: Almost didn't finish this on time to say farewell to August... this fic lived in my head for about a year, and finally here it is. Something a little bit different from my usual Napoleon stories. The lyrics are from Four Out of Five by Arctic Monkeys. Part of Late Summer Rendezvous, prompt 15: FREE DAY - Summer Fling

With nightlife being at its height in summer, it's way less common now for the mansion's parlor to be full of residents. With fun following the ones that follow it back, the absence of people like Arthur, Dazai, Comte, Leonardo and even Theo, makes it so that the introverts of the mansion have little reason to assemble and would much prefer to stay in their rooms instead.

There’s a certain warmth about late summer nights that tends to bring people together.

Perhaps the bars and the fancy soirees have gotten old. Tonight was yet another late August night that saw the mansion’s parlor brimming with liveliness.

Take it easy for a little while

Come and stay with us

The electric fan was aiding air circulating cigarette smoke once again, its low buzz accompanied by someone’s annoyed remark to take their smoke to the balcony. The shuffling of cards; the audible clack of poll balls sent rolling in all kinds of directions on the table. An abrupt cut-in in someone’s story when another feels the need to make an eminent correction.

That was it, until the small hours of the night rolled in, the last of sips in the glasses drowned with a promise to tell the rest of that story tomorrow. Some head towards their room with a stagger, or in Sebastian's case, can't walk by themselves at all.

Having promised to take care of tidying up the parlor for him, you move from one sitting area to other, swaying with the gramophone's melody soundtracking your cleaning chore. From the corner of your vision, you see Napoleon standing at the doorway, strangely hesitating to enter. He shakes it off quickly, joining your side casually and taking the heavy tray of empty glasses from your hands.

"I took Sebas to his room. He's already sound asleep. Poor man, wouldn't want to be him tomorrow…"

You mutter a thank-you before giggling at his comment, feeling that something is necessary to be added. "Oh, but we finally got him to loosen up! I think he had fun."

"Yeah." Napoleon snickers, but it morphs into a genuine smile. "Yeah, who knew he was so good at darts. It's better when he's not giving me the victory all the time."

The giddy feeling remains inside you, and even though the fun part of the night is over, you discover something pleasant in being here to enjoy the aftermath with Napoleon of all people. He makes an excellent company, even without the help he provides which is already plenty. Conversations with him are easy and light; he always manages to make you laugh effortlessly. His place in those gatherings is interesting as he somehow manages to stay at the center of attention despite the palette of colorful personalities surrounding him. He doesn't get on anyone's nerves too, which is an achievement with people like Mozart and Theo around. He makes sure the quiet ones are included in both the pastimes and the conversations.

With your more modern look at things, you notice how well he blends; almost as if he's an introvert with the introverts and an extrovert with the extroverts.

"Did I eat your dessert by mistake? You're staring a hole through me, Nunuche."

Nunuche? Where did that come from? You can remember him calling you that maybe once or twice, but it was deserved back then. You think.

"Oh, was I? Sorry, I was just thinking about something. It's good to have you around, Napoleon. I mean, you're like everyone's big brother."

Okay, that was pretty far from your point of downplaying your actual thoughts. Hey, that floor is so interesting to look at.

Passing the playing cards from one hand to the other in order to flip them in the right position before putting them away in a deck, Napoleon pauses to look at you.

"Thank you. That's nice to hear."

The low, rhythmic shuffle resumes and you pray that it mutes your heavy exhale as you realize you were holding in your breath. You finish up arranging the poll table, looking around for other tasks you missed before it's time to thank Napoleon for his help, and finish up sweeping the floor by yourself.

"I'll stay until the piece is over. I really like that melody. If you don't mind, I mean."

You watch him lean over the gramophone, reading the names of the other records as he puts them one by one back in the case. Nodding, you join by his side, the soft tone needle requiring you to get closer for a better listen. You like it.

Only time that we stop laughing

Is to breathe, or steal a kiss

Napoleon is still leaning in, propped on the small table with one hand. His mouth aligns with your level perfectly. You're looking directly at him, and he is looking back.

Out of nowhere, he asks.

"Have you had alcohol tonight?"

You blink, shaking your head. The seeping realization of why he asks gets to you and you hastily ask him in turn, "Have you?"

He lets out a tiny laugh. Maybe he's noticed you staring the whole night, and suspects that you would already know the answer. "No."

Before you know it, you're pressing your lips against his.

It's all new and exciting. The thoughts rushing in in your mind as to what comes next are exciting, but so is the sensation ruling over them right now. The man kissing you is just as curious to explore as you are, not letting this end as some innocent peck of lips against lips.

You like the form of his lips; their softness, the way they open so his tongue can invade your mouth. You let him explore more for you, you let him in.

Frankly, you didn't expect him to be much of a good kisser. It reminds you of how you were surprised by his cooking skills, then by his fencing skills; his equestrianism, his knowledge about ancient history, his dexterousness. You've surely made a fool of yourself for expecting anything less than a mind-blowing frenchkissing of His former Majesty, but sometimes losing tastes better.

A large pair of hands find your waist, even if you haven't shared that you're getting lightheaded and in need of a strong man's support. You let out a small noise that sounds dangerously akin to a moan, and Napoleon breaks the kiss.

He looks like he's trying his best not to smirk; something remarkable about his eyes - it could be the lighting, but they seem darker somehow.

"Now, what…?" You find yourself whispering, the question meant for both parties.

Napoleon maintains eye contact.

"Do you feel like you want to kiss me again?"

You grip the edge of the decorative table hard, hoping to take out the intensity of your emotion on it and not on Napoleon when that same hand falls on him next.

"Yes. Please."

It's Napoleon who takes the initiative this time, and it feels different from when you did it. Better.

This is absolutely not how this melody is meant to be danced, but Napoleon makes your body move along with his, walking you backward until he reaches a lone chair that has been pulled out of the table area for someone's convenience.

He sits down, taking you with him so you're comfortably seated on his lap straddling him, and thus facing him. No, there isn't really a need for any plan, you don't know why you asked. It all comes naturally when he keeps on kissing you, fingers carding through your hair to tilt your face to his liking. It's like he doesn't want to get too dominant, because for each movement he conducts, he leaves enough space for you to make your counter-attack. And you do, to your best extent, finding out that your hands want to move even more than your tongue does. You study the shape of his shoulders, firm and hard, gripping them for support as Napoleon's own hands begin to move up and down on your sides. It's nothing more than caressing, yet you wish he was bouncing you on his cock right now instead.

Making out with Napoleon wasn't in your plans for tonight; you'll be ashamed come morning when you're laying the table for him and ten others, having to pretend nothing has happened. You wonder if his demeanor would give off any signs of what happened the previous night.

Strangely, the thought of this turns you on, too. Everything does, right now; it's like the man currently kissing your neck radiates lust, infecting you with it and you'll go crazy.

While stealing his breath for yourself once again and finally losing count of how many times you did so, your body moves on its own impatiently, hips rolling against the prominent tent in his trousers.

Napoleon produces a low, dangerous noise of arousal. He looks surprised when you reach to undo his belt, but his light caressing of your spread thighs tells you it's the good kind of surprised.

"My room is further down the corridor, you know."

You bite down on your bottom lip. "I know. I go there every day."

Napoleon helps your slightly shaking fingers with the task, shooting you a dirty look but choosing not to say anything.

His expression shifts to serious once again, something so much like him, you pick the pattern. He's concentrated even when led by impulses, careful with what he does even in this spontaneous romp you two got caught into.

By the time his hand arrives at your own burning arousal, the gramophone melody had died down to complete silence, making it easier for you to hear Napoleon's groan as you stroke his length in turn as his hand keeps on caressing you. You're kissing him again; you can go on forever at this rate, not caring about the possibility of this ending short because you can't get your hands off each other. But he's more controlled than you are. If he wants to do more, he will.

"Do you want me to put it in?"

Somehow the question still catches you off-guard, you’re never going to be able to look him in the eye and be completely honest about everything you wish he could do to you. It's a good thing that he asks.

"Please."

The breathy laugh tickles your neck as he grabs your ass and brings you even closer to him, the nakedness of your front rubbing against his freed erection. It stands flush against your belly, intimidating you just a little with its size when you imagine it disappearing from sight in just another second.

"You don't have to beg."

Napoleon's quick work on your hole has done wonders to leave you clenching with anticipation and readiness, your hands finding the firm hardwood backrest that would make a good lavage. You aid Napoleon by arching your back, and your entrance aligns perfectly with his arousal. You both look down to watch the moment your lusting for each other finally gets resolved, and it somehow doesn't seem like it belongs to two individuals who've dreamed of getting into each other's pants only just from the beginning of the night onwards.

Napoleon pushes his hip up just as you sink down, and you meet in a euphoric first thrust. Closing your eyes, you feel that you've tightened up so much that you can sense every little detail about his impressive length, sucking him in deeper because you already want more. Napoleon groans and his brows have a slight arch to them when you open your eyes again.

"So tight… We need you to relax…"

Hearing that he's able to feel you just as much as you feel him, the wave of wanton makes you involuntarily squeeze him again. Napoleon grasps your chin and starts kissing you yet again. His tongue domineers over yours, invading your mouth just as he invaded your insides, but as he keeps a firm hold of your hips to hold you still, your attention is successfully moved to the kiss. It's hard not to feel the hot pulse of his cock and to react to it with your body, but you soon melt into Napoleon's persistent kissing. It's soothing somehow, preparing you for what comes next.

It's Napoleon who realizes you're ready first. He pushes you upwards and you don't even realize how naturally you sink your weight back down on him to chase after the high.

"There we go."

He's patient and excellent at guiding, hormones making your head spin with dozens of thoughts running at once inside it, all centered around the man fucking deeper into you from below. Settling into a good pace, you work together with him to meet this merciless need that saw you pounce on each other like animals, forgoing the steps of arranging all of this and instead giving yourselves into the moment. No, it's better that way. You like this raw, wild side of him - and perhaps, he likes yours as well.

"Merde. You feel…too good."

His whispered words almost make the knot in your belly snap, the alluring baritone colored by lust at fault for it. Wanting to give him more of yourself, you don't hold back. Bouncing up and down on him, you fight through moans to give him a warning.

"You…You feel good too… I'm gonna-!"

Hugging you tight against his chest, Napoleon straightens his back in the chair, making your hands fall from the backrest. You take it as a sign to cling onto him instead, trusting him with finishing this off for both of you in the best way.

Now having full control of how he penetrates you, he moves you up and down on his cock. Your legs dangle off his strong arms and you hate that you can't follow the erotic expressions he's making as he plows in you, because your eyes are rolling back in pleasure. Then you squeeze them shut when it hits you; strongly.

"Say my name."

Letting out a muted scream as your climax washes over you, you unintentionally test the strength of Napoleon's arms as your legs instinctively begin to close up.

"Napoleon---Ahhh!!"

He fucks you so good through it, intent on bringing out every last drop of pleasure he can get from you; even over your own quiet babbling you unmistakably hear him curse again.

Napoleon makes sure you've ridden your high to full extent before he pushes your body up again, forcing you off his cock. Warm ropes land on your naked skin, making you shiver, as Napoleon grunts and lets his own pleasure consume him.

You're sticky with the aftermath of the desire you shared with Napoleon, and that feels incredibly hot to you. He's catching his breath just as you are, and you hold his gaze while he further messes up his hair by raking his fingers through it.

"This is going to become a habit."

It's a little too late to feel embarrassed, but your cheeks are suddenly warm. Maybe because he's right.

You didn't notice for the switched-on lights, but looking at the window, it seems that the morning has almost arrived. The faint blue light of the quiet outside world is strangely beautiful, and the afterglow of the sex you had with Napoleon heightens the feeling rushing inside you. Soon you'll have to exit the scene.

"Hey, let's put on that record one more time."

Taglist: @arsnovacadenza @ale-teodora @kimi00twin @otomelady @privilegedpancake @g-kleran    @pumpumnnnp @thesirenwashere @ravenarld @kimmy-banana @devonares @galaxyprison @sadshaxk @starshards26 @thewitchofbooks @acethephoenix256 @ikevamp-shrine-2 @nad-zeta @crystal13unny @keen19thcenturygoatsstudent @lordsister @ikemen-banshou   @themysticalbeing @otome-scribbles @rhodolitesrose @coornn @kpop-and-otome @queen-dahlia @kisara-16 @chaosangel767 @ikemenlibrary @queengiuliettafirstlady @aurora-morning @aquagirl1978 ​ @ikemenlover24 @mcofthemansion @joy-the-reader @katriniac @ikemen-writer @tele86 @lovely-bubb1es @aria-chikage @babyblue0t7 @rhodoliteschaos @princess-pray-a @my-day6 Let me know if you want to be tagged/untagged!

[tournament-announcer]

not sure if this is the right place to ask, but any guides/whatever on how to run a character tournament thingy? i assume it's all pretty straightforward stuff, but if people have tips i'd like to hear them

I don’t have tips if you want people to submit characters because I have never used that, but the tips I do have are:

Decide on the size of your bracket early on and keep it realistic. I’ve run a bracket of size 128 and that was a bit much, now I’m running a bracket of size 64 and it’s way easier to handle

I prefer to not have too many polls per day to give people the chance to think about it and avoid clogging people’s dash. However I’ve only run music tournaments so I also take into account that people may want to listen to the songs and that’s hard if I post all 128 songs in a few days. Also I found that if I didn’t get time to prepare in advance I could easily make 4 polls a day, but much more would take a significant time

Do try to prepare things in advance though! The queue and drafts are your friends!

Try to find a way to seed your bracket, for music I used Spotify streams, for characters you could use ao3 stats or your own personal guess of who would be most popular. I’ve found it annoying in the past when two of my predicted top 5 would face off in the first round already

I also like to have a bunch of cross links between posts so followers can easily find all polls. It has also turned out really handy for me to quickly find out how polls are doing. However this is also more work so it’s a personal preference

If you include images try to include descriptions or alt-text to stay accessible

That’s what I could come up with, everyone feel free to disagree with me or add to this!

[auxiliarydetective]

The OC Halloween Challenge - Day 22

You can find the challenge here!

Today's prompt was...

Solitude Causes More Wounds Than It Was Meant To Heal

Fear is increased when one is alone by themselves, or cut off from civilization like an reclusive island. Focus on your characters in the horror of isolation; are they forced to recognize who they truly are on the inside? Do they practice the law of nature or nurture? Do they keep their morals or own laws?

Once again, I made a poll to determine today's victim and I realized lots of my followers are in need of a hug so...

Spooky hug for you! This actually fits with today's winner/victim too because it's...

Charlie Drake!

-

Ray reluctantly unlocked the door to the Firehouse, the police forcing themselves past him the moment they could. The once-Ghostbusters followed, Ray entering last. Inside the Firehouse, the only thing that was still in its proper condition was Ecto-1. Everything else was covered in a thick layer of dust and cobwebs. Immediately, the cops started searching every nook and cranny, every closet and shelf, every cupboard upstairs in the kitchen, every cabinet... And the car, of course. Winston, Ray, Egon and Peter exchanged worried and annoyed glances. Mostly annoyed, in fact. Winston was mostly worried though and Egon was observing everything happening around him as if he were on a bust. Really, with the way he looked at the cops roaming around, with their hands all over his carefully crafted equipment, you would think he was just waiting for a ghost to jump out and rip them to shreds. Venkman seemed to have the same hopes as he whispered:

"You don't think one of the traps is still loaded, do you?"

"The enemy of my enemy is my friend," Ray murmured.

"I think a ghost attacking the cops might actually make your situation worse," Winston whispered. "They'll just blame it on you and make your charges even worse."

Egon said nothing. After turning everything upside-down and hurling every speck of dust around the house, the cops left, reminding Ray, Egon and Peter of their trial the next day. Then, the police cars sped away.

"Well, now we're really in trouble," Egon mumbled.

"Boy, you said it," Ray sighed. He leaned against the hood of Ecto-1 in resignation. "Man, I really wish Charlie were here."

"Yeah," Peter chuckled, "he could smack those guys into next week!"

Before Winston could repeat his statement from before, Egon interrupted:

"That's exactly my point as to why we're in trouble. Charlie didn't show up."

"Well, we did encourage him to explore the world," Winston reminded him. "For all we know, he could be in New Zealand or something. How should we know? He didn't even leave a note or call or something."

"It's almost like he wants nothing to do with us," Ray murmured.

"Well, we did almost kill him," Peter quipped. "Twice."

"Three times, actually," Egon corrected. "Still, I don't think he'd just leave without saying anything."

"Yeah, now that you mention it," Winston reminisced, "he's never been the type of guy to just stay quiet about things he didn't like. And the last thing he told us, he said we could reach him at the Firehouse."

"You think he's just been hanging around here for four years?" Peter asked. "Sounds too boring for Charlie."

"Precisely," Egon declared.

"You think he somehow got stuck here?" Ray asked worriedly.

"It's very possible he turned sick, in a lack of better terms, and maybe didn't notice it." Egon held out his hand, showing off the ring that Charlie had given him. "Do you still have yours?"

The others nodded, their hands joining Egon's in the space between them.

"Remember how shiny they used to be? Now they're tarnished."

"That's just what silver does, it tarnishes," Peter said. "Come on, Egon, I thought you were smart."

"I tried polishing it," Ray threw in. "But it didn't work. I figured it's just because it hasn't been around Charlie in a long time, but... Oh god, Spengs, you don't think-"

"Remember how Charlie was before and after we defeated Gozer?" Egon continued his interrogation, but his voice was a little weaker now, shaking slightly. "Specifically, what changed?"

"Well, before that, I don't think he ever slept," Ray recalled. "He'd always be going on busts with us and then to his night shift right after that and hop right back into Ecto-1 the next morning. I didn't really think about it too much back then, but it became even more obvious when he dropped his other job. He was constantly on his feet."

"Yeah, I remember how much that ticked me off when I joined," Winston sighed. "And after we defeated Gozer, he started actually sleeping, didn't he? Didn't it also take him a whole week to recover from the explosion on the roof?"

"My theory is that he never fully recovered," Egon said darkly. "I tried to form a thesis on what might have happened in terms of psychokinetic energy when we destroyed the temple and afterwards to find out what effects it might have had on Charlie. Before we fired at the gate, it was steadily leaking psychokinetic energy into our world, meaning the very same energy that Charlie most likely lives off of. When we reversed the particle flow, it destroyed Mr Stay Puft in the explosion, very similarly to how Charlie... almost died... when the containment grid exploded. Only this time, it didn't destroy Charlie's physical form like the first time around. But it still must have drained him off all the extra energy he had to spare, which is why he was so tired all the time. It also left lasting damage, which is why he had to sleep from then on."

"So what, he relapsed?" Peter asked. "He seemed mostly fine last I saw him. Barely even slept anymore. What happened that could've caused that? I mean, I didn't see any big psychokinetic explosions since we disbanded."

"That's the point, we disbanded. There were no more ghost sightings, meaning there was very little psychokinetic energy in the area, which must have had an effect on Charlie eventually. I'm assuming the rings we're wearing might have had some effect on his recovery as well. He did call them mutual insurance. And with them gone, what's the only source of psychokinetic energy left?"

"The containment grid," Ray murmured.

"You think he locked himself in there like in a bacta tank?" Peter mumbled.

"No, he wouldn't do that," Winston declared. "He knows there's no way to get back out."

"He's probably somewhere in the Firehouse," Egon theorized, "and he's probably sleeping or unconscious. Dormant, you could say. If we can get some energy back into these rings, maybe we can wake him up."

"Ghost defibrilator. Right on my finger. Fantastic."

Still, nobody had a better idea. In fact, it was the only idea anyone had. So, the former Ghostbusters headed into the basement to do the reverse of their usual profession and actually summon a ghost this time. They placed their hands against the surface of the containment grid. Immediately, it felt like a jolt of electricity rushed through their bodies and they pulled their hands away, the rings unbearably hot, then suddenly icy cold, glowing in an alabaster sheen. The lights in the basement flickered, making them fear another blackout.

"I think it worked," Peter mumbled.

"Charlie?" Egon called.

Suddenly, one of the boxes of screws from the nearby shelf flew in Egon's direction, hitting him in the arm. But that was only the start. From then on, more and more objects started hitting Egon, Peter, Ray and Winston.

"Are you sure that's Charlie?!" Winston asked, ducking out of the way of a wrench.

"It has to be," Egon replied, trying to make his way to the staircase but being blocked off by the desk.

"I think he's mad," Ray said weakly.

"Mad?!" Peter echoed. "He's pissed!"

[prodigy-if]

Valentine’s Day Snippet

Happy Valentine’s Day! I decided to write a little flashback snippet between Marlon and MC for you all considering he was the winner of the poll between the ROs.

It can be read as romantic (with Marlon and MC having puppy crushes on eachother) or it can be read as platonic. It takes place when they are younger and still attending the academy. I would place MC as 13 and Marlon as 13/14. 

I hope you enjoy it!

Valentine’s Day [Hiraeth Academy Year 3]

The halls were silent. Usually, that would be something to take note of but today your attention was solely on the board in front of you. Every sound seemed to be muffled and distant, as if it was meant to stay out of the way of your concentration.

You move a piece.

White, E4.

You move another.

Black, E5.

You stare at the board. The scene of your victory replays in your head. Something suffocating begins to reside in your chest. You should have lost that game - re-enacting it just proved that. You feel as though a rug has been pulled out from beneath your feet.

It's not often that you end up being wrong after all.

Which is exactly what makes your victory so puzzling. You were supposed to lose. Every sign pointed to that outcome.

Yet, the game had ended with your checkmate. The Headmaster didn't seem surprised. He had just patted you on the shoulder and praised you in that jovial tone of his.

"I suppose you were always going to end up surpassing me one day. I just didn't expect it to be so soon."

He had laughed after - like he was aware of some joke that you weren't in on.

He had thrown the game.

That was something you knew with a deep sense of certainty. What you couldn't figure out, however, was why.

No matter how much you thought about it, you could not identify a single reason behind his decision to throw the game. It was an uncomfortable feeling, knowing that you had been so wrong and uncertain.

It was like being confronted with a puzzle with pieces that wouldn't fit together no matter how hard you tried. You had the pieces in front of you, but you still couldn't make sense of them.

You have come to the conclusion that you deeply dislike not knowing things.

The sound of your door creaking open interrupts your thoughts. The sound of footsteps follow yet you don't turn around. Your eyes continue to be focused on the board - rearranging the pieces in your mind.

The footsteps get closer until finally, the familiar individual is standing behind you. He drops something on your desk. You ignore it.

"You know if you wanted to play, you could've come and found me instead staring at the board in the dark like some creep. You know I'm always happy to kick your ass."

Marlon's smug voice rings out across the room. You find a certain irony in his words - after all he had only ever "kicked your ass" once. After a few moments of contemplative silence, you drag your eyes over to the wooden box he had ungracefully dropped onto your desk. You pick it up.

"...it's a puzzle box."

Your eyes dart over to him. His face is an odd shade of red. Perhaps you have somehow already managed to annoy him. As your eyes gaze at him, the deep red shade of his face darkens.

Odd.

You glance down at the box, Marlon must pick up on your confusion because he begins to reluctantly explain.

"I thought you would like it. At least more than the chocolates everyone else is making that is..."

Chocolates? Ah. You had forgotten that Isla had rounded everyone up to make some sweets and cards for Valentine's day. That explains the silence of the halls.

"...I mean we both can solve it and compare times. I'll obviously beat you but it wouldn't be fair unless I gave you a shot at it."

That makes much more sense. You feel something warm settle in your chest. Marlon is incredibly predictable at times. Predictable but not boring. Never boring.

The feeling in your chest expands. You ignore it.

"I see. Do you have a timer?"

Your question seems to cause his cheeks to redden even more. Perhaps, he is getting ill?

"I don't- I mean I- I have to go. Just make sure you solve the stupid thing!"

There's the anger you are familiar with. You can't help but watch with detached interest as the blonde angrily stomps out of the room. He slams the door shut, leaving you alone in the room, pondering what could have caused such a reaction. You glance down at the puzzle box lying in your hands.

You still need to figure out why the game between you and the Headmaster had been thrown.

You continue staring at the box.

…

…

…

You suppose it couldn't hurt to play along with whatever odd competition Marlon has made up in his head. Just this once.

[truly-morgan]

[Mobster wife JC]

MingCheng | Mo Dao Zu Shi Modern AU + Mafia AU 13-01-2022

Mobster's wife #jiangcheng x [mobster to determine], modern day

Jiang Cheng sighed as he took another look at the time. It was getting late and his dear husband was still not home yet. He had promised he would be able to come back early that day.

"And to say I made myself all pretty for you tonight" jc mumbled to himself with a pout, checking himself out in the large mirror of their bedroom. He had wanted to surprise his husband with a nice dinner and pretty outfits.

But he understood, something problem that needed time to take care of would arise and his husband couldn't do anything about it.

He did worry that something really bad had happened.

But he was soon taken out of his thoughts and worries when he heard the sound in the entry hall, making his way out of the room. He couldn't help the smile on his lips when he saw his husband's man opening the door for their boss.

Jiang Cheng made his way to the top of the stairs, looking down at his husband entering their home, faking an annoying look for his lateness (despite being happy he was finally home)

[poll for who the boss should be]

"Look who is finally home" Jiang Cheng commented as he made his way down the stairs once he saw Nie Mingjue coming in, "For a moment I thought I had been abandoned by my own husband" he added.

He made his way to his husband, looking him up and down to make sure he was alright, searching for any sign of injuries.

"I would never dare do such a thing" nmj replied with a smile, giving his coat to one of his men.

"We met some problems at one of our warehouses and needed the boss present to take care of the situation, his delay was caused by us" Nie Zonghui replied, "But I can assure you the boss was excited about coming back as soon as possible all day" he added with a small smile.

"Nie Zonghui" nmj nearly groaned at the fact he was exposed by his right-hand man.

"I understand, sometimes you have no choice but to call him, I am sure you did your best" jc smiled at the man, gently patting his shoulder.

Jc then turned to his husband, seeing nmj open his arm ready for a hug, offering him a sorry smile. yet jc didn't go for a hug yet, still looking him up.

"I am not injured, A-Cheng doesn't need to worry about it" nmj assured him. Yet he had a track record of lying about it so his husband wouldn't worry about him. But jc knew what he got into when he accepted to go out and then marry this man, he didn't want to be reassured all the time.

He turned to nzh, only for the man to nod, confirming nmj was indeed alright.

With this jc joined him, letting him hug him close to him, letting him melt in the safety of his arms. nmj quickly sent everyone away, keeping jc in his arms, gently rocking them from side to side.

"I really wanted to come early today" nmj assured him, kissing him "To my beautiful husband, you look really pretty in these" he smiled, letting go a little bit to see his outfit. jc smiled, turning on himself to show him better.

"I am happy that you liked it" he chuckled, extending his hand so nmj could follow him.

"Would my dear husband like some diner, I made it myself" jc smiled, yelping a little bit when nmj grabbed his hand, only to pull him and lift him up.

He couldn't help but laugh as nmj carried him bridal style to the kitchen.

"I am always hungry for what my husband makes me" nmj assured him, kissing him some more on the way there.

thankfully nmj wasn't too late either and it was easy to heat up everything again.

jc was a bit flustered to sit in nmj's lap, the man insisting on staying close to him. It was as if they were a newlywed couple. Still, he enjoyed it and went with it.

They decided to talk about nice things, jc usually loved hearing what went on in nmj days, but tonight he felt like relaxing and just talking about their hobbies and maybe planning a little date soon.

jc was in the middle of talking about how his cooking went today as he finished his piece of cake, gasping when he suddenly felt a hand groping his ass.

"A-Jue," he said, as if offended to be interrupted that way, yet not stopping his hand.

"A-Cheng's dessert was as delicious as usual, but there is something else I would love to eat now," he said, kissing his husband's neck, making him giggle a little.

jc couldn't help his smile, cupping his husband's face to kiss him again, gently putting their forehead together. "Then why don't you take me to our room" he whispered with a smile on his face.

It wasn't long before he was yet again lifted by nmj as if he weighed nothing, being taken up the stairs to their room, giggling and blushing as nmj kept on kissing him and telling him what he would do once they would be alone. Everything seemed to be a good idea in jc's mind.

maybe his husband had been late today, but at the end of the day, everything went perfectly well and he still managed to surprise nmj with his favourite food and dessert.

Although he felt like nmj would like the rest of the night just as much, if not more.

Original

[asianpopfan]

Just saw that on Weverse, there is already a voting poll for R U Next? Which makes extremely annoyed.

They obviously want to rely on the public’s favourites, not even showing anything worthy longer than 1:30 seconds of their skills combined. (They are 22 people and 1 minute trailer for all them together!)

What is there exactly to vote at all? This is just giving a push to those who probably have pretty and/or foreigner privilege. Yes, foreigner privilege because although they might not have advantages such as being considered a real Korean even if they lived in SK for 15 years and are ethnically SKorean, they are seen as exotic, cool if they come from the USA and as I see it a lot of kpop fans focus a lot on their idols anglophone nationality and their habits and accents. Don’t get me wrong, there will be more disadvantages more often than not, but you can’t deny that the SKorean contestant from USA might probably have a lot of “unserious” followers who will make funny compilations of her and paint her as more “mature” overall.

Are we supposed to vote for who we relate the more in terms of MBTI, favourite animal or food?

Maybe they want to have an excuse to eliminate the 12 year old contestant as people seem unhappy with her age and avoid later backlash. Maybe they want to put her at disadvantage before they even begin knowing that at least 50% won’t vote for her and hope she gets last in voting so if she ever has chances to debut, she might not due to it being harder for her???

At the end of the day the most sensed plausible explanation is that they want us to vote for who has the best aura, not in a pretty privilege type of way but in a literal tarot reading type. I don’t even believe in it but what else do they want us to vote?!?!

Because kpop is very aesthetically based so of course the essences the contestants give off is more eye catching at first impression.

I do not trust the voters who are happy with doing the poll. I never trust pre debut fans before they even show anything. Being a survival show fan ,supporter and follower of the group is different from being a fan of something that doesn’t exist and you have absolutely no conceptual idea of yet.

Will they stay if they turn out unpleasant post debut? For example ZB1 has supporters and followers (I get it!) but they have also fans who are already catching up fights with other fandoms (As seen against BoyNextDoor) , keep in mind that BND debuted about 1 month ago and ZB1 still hasn’t released their debut album/single trailer yet! We don’t know how their music will be! It’s also always the kpop fans who complain about music not being the “center” of the industry who act like that and shame others for not liking quality music, what music do you even have? NMiXX is instead the one group that shockingly disappointed the entire industry because they have have content and stunning skill demonstrations since a year before debut but their music was so…eccentric that people were harassing JYP Entertainment.

Seems like a lot of people (at least active in western social medias) have voted for the oldest contestant as a way to promote her but part of me feels like this is also wrong because I get the intention but what if she is not deserving of it??? Seriously, giving a place out of pity or as a “political” move/rebellion won’t benefit the deserving contestants. This is an important career decision, we could make or ‘not’ them. Let’s not play games in such shows. At the end of the day we don’t know about her any more than the others. Was she the one who trained with Le Sserafim? She might also have an advantage as the LSS fanbase might support her + LSS fans are at least neutral on their own members age and won’t have a single problem with her.

[gaysindistress]

Gaysindistress’s 600 followers celebration

I combined the sleepover and blurb event because the poll was literally 50/50 😂

Anywayssssssss I’ve never hosted anything like this before and I wanted to celebrate hitting 600 followers!! I’m so grateful for all of the love and support that y’all have shown me 💕 it warms my heart and lowkey makes me want to cry thinking about all of the sweet comments and reblogs some of y’all have left. I literally have an album just for screenshots of them 😭 thank you and I love all of you 💕

rules:

- preference will given to those who are following me on either on this blog, gaysindistress, or my main punkrockrevivalist

- this event will be from November 11 to November 21

Without further ado….

To celebrate please send me an emoji with any additional request details from the list below:

🖼️ [moodboard]: I’ll make you a mood board based on a character or a fic that is either one of mine or yours. You can request one, or I can surprise you!

❓[ask me a question]: ask me anything about myself or one of my fics

For blurbs, please include the prompt number and the emoji with the character (with any additional request details) from the list below:

Example ask: “prompt 6 💧 with Bucky!”

Characters

Seb Stan: Bucky Barnes (my love)/winter soldier, Nick Fowler, Steve Kemp, Lee Bodecker, Max Burnett C Evans: Steve Rogers, Ransom Drysdale, Lloyd Hansen Misc: ACOTAR (Cassian, Az, Rhys), Pedro Pascal characters, Wanda, Yelena, Natasha, Sam Wilson, as well as other MCU characters. please note that I do NOT write RPF or for Tony Stark, John Walker, and Peter Quill. My guidelines can be found at the bottom of my masterlist for more info.

Prompts

I do not take credit for writing all of these prompts. I looked through many, many lists to make this one and I linked them 💕

Angst 💧

"I wish we never met. I regret the day I ever met you."

"I hope you’re happy now with someone else."

"What exactly do you want from me? Because I’ve been trying to figure it out, I just can’t."

"How am I ever going to be the same after this?"

"Say something. Anything. Please don’t let me sit in this silence."

"I stayed because I love you. Now I realize I should have left because you never loved me back."

Protective: ❤️‍🩹

“Hold my hand, okay? It’s gonna be over soon.”

“I need you to close your eyes for me love.”

“When I say run, I need you to do as I say without looking back and don’t wait for me.”

“I swear to you, that as long as I’m alive I won’t let a single soul ever harm you.”

“You can bury me yourself before I lose you. Now get down and don’t move.”

“Listen to me.  . . take deep breaths, yes follow my breathing just like that. There’s no need to panic, I’m right here now, aren’t I? You’re safe.”

Classic Bucky & Sam banter 🙊

“Who let you in here?”

“God you’re annoying.”

“Oh go fuck yourself.”

“Don’t look at me, that was all you!”

“you make me need to carry ibuprofen around.”

“Kiss me and I’ll…” “what? You’ll do what?”

Fluff 🧸

“I love you more than words can express."

“I'll love you til my lungs give out.” “Oh give me a break, you don’t mean that.” “I’m not lying, doll.”

“So… What’s the next date going to be?” Character b murmurs, nuzzling their face on Character A’s neck.

"Stay with me tonight. please."

"We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. we can just sit here together until you feel up to anything else.”

"did we fall asleep?" "I think we did.."

Suggestive🌶️

This marriage has been nothing but a fake since the start. But we’re staying over at your parent’s home, and they’re expecting us to act like we’re in love… which side of the bed are you, regretfully, taking? 

"YOU SENT ME NUDES WHILE I WAS WITH THE GUYS/GIRLS!"

I’m damn freezing, and I know you run warm. You wouldn’t mind if I…

As a bodyguard, you’ve been posted in my bedroom. Just… come sleep next to me. That way I can be safe, and you can be comfortable. Deal? 

All the other hotel rooms are booked, and even though you are my ex, I would rather sleep next to you than a stranger, or even go back out into the snow. Move over, and let’s not talk about it. 

After a “there’s only one bed” kind of event, I slept next to you. But now, my bed seems so empty, and yours seems so comfortable. 

Dark 🌑

“don’t look at them, why are you looking at them? look at me. they’re not going to help you.”

“go on, scream for me.”

“Do you miss the way that I did everything for you? The way you watched me lose my mind? I hope it was entertaining.” A continues, their tone so chilling, it almost sends a shiver down B’s spine. A chuckles, there are obvious bags under their eyes, but it contrasts the fire within them.

“Did you really think i would let you go? Awe, doll, you should know better than that. You’re mine and I’m never letting you go.”

“I hope for your sake that you can run fast because you have approximately 30 seconds before I rip your throat out.”

“how you come out of this depends entirely on you. so i strongly suggest you cooperate, for your own sake.”

[tommybaholland]

helping their sleepy s/o remove their makeup

featuring: 4/5 bakusquad (aka bakugo, kirishima, kaminari, and ashido) 

1.5k special writing event poll is still accepting responses. it’ll be up until haikyuu night on thursday so there’s plenty of time to get everyone’s votes in! enjoy <3

bakugo 

he notices that you’re practically falling asleep while you two are having a meal together 

your head is drooping so low that he has to catch you from falling face-first into the food 

“hey, watch it, idiot! your hair’s getting in it.”

declares that you’re too tired to eat and wraps up your food for you so you can eat it later 

if it seems like you’re so tired that he has to drag you to bed, he’ll just go right ahead and pick you up to carry you the rest of the way there

but don’t think that he won’t still put a stop to your mumbling protests 

“it’s obvious that your dumbass is too tired to walk so shut up and let me help you.”

he places you down in bed and begins to tuck you in before he notices that you still have makeup on

he looks around the room briefly for whatever you use to remove it

“hey, don’t get too comfortable yet. how do you take that stuff off your face?”

after deciphering your vague pointing and mumbled directions, he finally locates the bottle of micellar water and the little reusable pads 

you giggle as he begins to clean your face off and tickles your skin

“hey, hold still for a minute, you idiot. i thought you were tired.”

peeling off your fake lashes is probably his least favorite part

they’re so annoying because he always finds them stuck to him or in a place they shouldn’t be and he’ll mistake it for a spider

“i’m going to put these stupid things in your desk drawer where they WON’T get STUCK to ME.”

tries to be gentle when rubbing off your eye makeup but he wants to make sure he gets everything off so he finds himself scrubbing a little harder

but he makes sure he doesn’t get anything in your eyes

his favorite part, though, is cleaning off your neck 

he’s got this weird hyper fixation about it...he just thinks you have a nice neck okay

once he’s done, he takes a clean pad and does one more pass over your whole face and eyes to make sure he got everything 

“okay, there. now you won’t get that shit everywhere in the bed.”

puts the remover stuff away and gets into bed with you

finds his favorite spot, resting his head on your shoulder with his face hiding in your neck

“i love you. now get some rest, dumbass.” 

kirishima

he returns from class or training and unexpectedly finds you in the same spot as he left you

“oh, hey, pebble! didn’t expect to find you still here.”

class was canceled so you were just trying to catch up on some work 

he observes your slumped figure and droopy expression

this was seemingly not the cute and smiley s/o that he knew 

he always thinks you’re cute but you just looked especially fatigued, that’s all

once he watched you sigh, yawn, and rub over your face and eyes all within a few seconds 

that’s when he sees that you seemed to forget that you were wearing makeup and smeared it a little around your eyes

he couldn’t continue to hesitate from saying something 

“babe, i think you need to sleep. why don’t you take a little nap and i’ll get us some food and you can eat when you wake up?”

but first, he’s gonna clean your face off so you can relax

you’re barely conscious at this point, luckily he knows where you keep your makeup wipes 

after a few swipes across your face, he’s amazed as he sees all the product coming off onto the wipe

“whoa, babe, i think it’s working!”

he’s acting like he just discovered gold or something

“that’s so cool. isn’t it crazy that it’s taking off all the dirt and stuff-- i mean, your face isn’t dirty but, like, it’s getting rid of the stuff that could make it dirty. gotta make sure my pebble has clean pores!”

unlike his exploding friend, he’s more gentle around your eye area

lets you know when he’s going to put more pressure and tell him if he’s rubbing too hard 

but now he understands why you rub your eyes raw to get all your mascara off

he does the best he can without causing you any discomfort 

when he thinks he’s cleaned it all off, he lets you know he’s done by kissing your cheek many times which makes you giggle 

“all clean! are you ready to get some sleep?”

insists on carrying you or at least helping you to bed

he isn’t someone who likes to take naps but he’ll lay there with you and rub your back until you’re fast asleep 

kaminari 

the day had been long and hard, one that left you exhausted both physically and emotionally 

your muscles ached and your eyes felt strained from being awake and alert all-day

but if you want to take a nap, your boyfriend would love nothing more than to be lazy and chill with you 

and once denki gets into a cuddly, sleepy mood, he’s glued to your side 

literally follows you everywhere until you’re relaxed in bed or somewhere comfy with him

he goes to the bathroom with you so you can remove your makeup beforehand 

he likes to stand behind you, hugging you from behind but his close presence is only making it harder to stay awake

he sees that your movements are becoming more sluggish and you’re beginning to lean back into him more

“do you need some help, gorgeous? here, sit down for me.”

he’s kinda nervous about using the putty balm stuff that you use to remove it because he’s never seen anything like it 

he’s seen you take off your makeup a few times but he checks in with you to be sure

“okay, so i can just put this right on your face, right?”

once he starts, he gets into it and enjoys rubbing the stuff onto your cheeks 

“haha this is so fun! you have such cute cheeks, babe.”

even though it’s kinda messy, the balm actually does a great job at taking off your makeup easily 

but he’s kinda hesitant about using it on your eyes and doesn’t want it to get in them 

luckily there’s not much left on your eyes, having been worn away from the day’s events 

“whoa, your eyelashes feel weird with mascara on. very pointy.” 

his observations never fail to amuse 

when he’s done putting it all over your face, he realizes that he doesn’t have anything to wipe it off

has you keep your eyes closed as he washes his hands off and locates a towel

“sorry, babe. hang on one second. okay, here we go. now you’re getting clean!”

he’s amazed that, despite being a thick balm, it wipes off your face real easy

“huh, i guess that’s why they call it a ‘makeup melter--’ okay, all done!”

rinses out the towel and hangs it to dry then holds you from behind again, steering you out of the bathroom and into bed

places a small kiss on the corner of your mouth before spooning you 

ashido

you love learning new dance moves from mina but there are days when you feel like you don’t even have the energy to watch her dance 

which is sad because you love watching her more than anything 

but she’s the greatest girlfriend and understands as she promises she’ll show it to you later 

(next, she’ll have to show you how to keep up sheesh)

for her, being tired is not an excuse to skip skincare before bed

or at least taking your makeup off before bed

“babeeee, you know that’s, like, so bad for your skin. not to mention that it’ll get your pillows dirty!” 

she grabs the micellar water and methodically swipes over your face, not pulling or pressing too hard

this is the time when she likes to pay you the most compliments, even if you’re half-asleep 

“oh my god, you have to tell me what lashes these are. they’re so fluffy and pretty!”

“your skin is so smooth and glowy, sweetheart.”

“i love this shade of lipstick on you. makes your lips look so kissable.”

takes every chance that she can to kiss you

in fact, every spot she cleans off, she’ll kiss

it’s like a secret code that it’s clean 

and that’s every spot because she doesn’t want to miss any 

she’ll even clean off your lashes by picking off the glue and letting them soak in micellar water for a few minutes 

“i like doing your makeup but this is so much more satisfying.”

like bakugo, she’ll do one more pass all over your face, placing final kisses in some spots as well

but even when she’s done, she’s not done 

first, she’ll get you comfy into bed, lying down on your back 

she’ll grab that stone she uses to massage her face, the gua sha

she absolutely swears by it and credits it to her killer jawline 

and she’ll lightly massage your face with it while you fall asleep

it’s the epitome of relaxation, especially when she rubs it over your jaw and does little circle motions at the end  

she’ll lay down with you when she’s done and you’ll usually turn over to spoon her, pressing your face to rest between her shoulders 

behold, it’s bnha night! inbox is ready for requests..

[babypandawrites]

Allies, Pt. 12

The Siege of the North, Part Two

Pairing: Sokka x F Reader Warnings: Implications of Death, I think that's all? Word Count: 3,286 Summary: With the Fire Nation waging war on the Northern Water Tribe, you didn't expect things of the past to be brought up, but, when do you expect anything at this point.

Note: And here we have, the final part of Allies :') But don't worry- the story will continue in a sequel 👀 Phew I did not mean for this to take so long, but I was having a really hard time with the end and ended up having to change where the reader was towards the end for me to... actually be able to write the chapter. Thank you to everyone who has enjoyed the story thus far! It means the world to me, really. It's crazy to think about how I've been working on this for four months! I hope you guys will stick with me for the months to come while I write the sequel :') I'll be carrying over the taglist to the sequel since it's the... same story just a different name heh. Let me know if you want to be added or taken off! I hope you guys enjoy this chapter, and that you all have a great day! <3 Also hi sorry bringing this poll back up bc the results are currently tied!!!

-Navigation- | -Atla Masterlist- -Last Part- | -Allies Masterlist- | -Next Part-

Taglist: @boomeraangin | @brokennerdalert

Eyes blinking open, Y/n slowly came too. Her vision was blurry, and her head was pounding. Faintly, she could hear someone talking, but her head was too fuzzy to make out who it was and what they were saying. Her vision clearing, she could see a rocky ceiling, which seemed… odd. Was she in a cave?

When she tried to sit up, she found that she couldn’t move. Her arms were trapped against her sides, and her legs were bound together. Groaning quietly, Y/n twisted onto her side. Aang was on the ground a few feet away from her, hands bound behind his back. He didn’t seem… present.

Observing the situation more, she noted the figure that stood at the entrance to what she was assuming was a cave. They were still talking, and her head was finally clear enough to make out what they were saying.

“I don’t need luck though, I don’t want it. I’ve always had to struggle and fight and that’s made me strong. It’s made me who I am.”

Struggling weakly against her bindings, Y/n furrowed her eyebrows together. “..Zuko..?”

His head turned to the side slightly, an acknowledgement that she was awake, but he didn’t turn to face her. “Don’t bother trying to get free, I’ll just knock you out again.” He paused for a short moment. “Sorry about that, I just.. I knew you wouldn’t give up. You never have.”

Zuko had… taken her too. Why…?

Grunting, she continued to struggle against the rope, stopping only when Zuko rested his hand on her arm. “What did I just say? Did I knock you in the head that hard?” Sighing, Zuko settled on the ground next to her. “I’d prefer if you didn’t make me knock you out again. You probably think otherwise but I don’t want to hurt you.”

Opting to stay silent, she shuffled in place. He watched her carefully, before awkwardly looking about once she stopped moving. He took in a deep breath, when she started shuffling again. “Are you.. uncomfortable?” Being met with silence, Zuko glanced at Y/n to see she was looking at him with a blank expression. “I can sit you up, if you want.”

Not receiving an answer once again, he let out an annoyed breath. “Conversations usually go both ways, Y/n.”

Still, she looked at him blankly. “I don’t think people typically converse with their captors, Zuko.”

“Well, we used to be friends!” Crossing his arms with a huff, Zuko slumped against the cave wall. “I guess the key phrase is ‘used to be’, isn’t it?” He clicked his tongue, before breathing out a sigh. “I didn’t capture you to turn you in, we could… still be friends.”

Y/n took on a pensive expression. “Then why..?”

“Why did I capture you..?” Receiving a nod of confirmation, Zuko shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t… I don’t know.”

“You don’t… know..?”

“No! Okay?! I just-” Breathing out another annoyed breath, he dropped his head into his hands. “Why? Why did you leave? I thought… I thought we had each other's backs and… and you just up and leave?! Just like that?! No explanation, no nothing!? So why?!” Continuing to stay silent, Y/n grimaced internally at the rise in Zuko’s volume. The more he spoke, the louder he got. It was almost hard to imagine that this was the boy she grew up with.

Zuko scoffed, shaking his head slightly. “Fine then. It doesn’t matter anyways- You’ve chosen your path.” He let out a laugh, one edging on hysterical. “You know, I thought maybe I could sit here and convince you to come back, but I can see that isn’t going to work… The Avatar and his friends have won your favor.” He was silent for a moment, seemingly calming down from his outburst. “Uncle told me that I shouldn’t be mad at you, that I should respect your decision to find your own path. How can I do that when your so-called path is going against me?”

Before Zuko could continue, Aang came too, returning from the spirit world. Attention turned to the boy, when he started to struggle against his bonds. After a short moment of futile struggle, he sat up to face Zuko.

“Welcome back.”

“Good to be back.” Aang spoke with a threatening tone, blinding reaching around with his hands- which were tied behind his back -to try and find Y/n’s wrist. Once he was able to grab onto her wrist, he took in a deep breath and blew Zuko away from them while simultaneously shooting both him and Y/n out of the cave. The two landed in the snow outside, where Aang started to caterpillar crawl.

It didn’t take long for Zuko to get to them, grabbing Aang by the collar and lifting him in the air once he did. “That won’t be enough to escape.”

Suddenly, Appa appeared above them, before landing on the ground. Y/n breathed out a sigh of relief. Katara got off the bison, as Zuko dropped Aang back into the snow. “Here for a rematch?”

“Trust me, Zuko, it’s not going to be much of a match.”

Katara blocked a fireball Zuko shot at her, sending a wave of ice towards him. Once the ice reached him, she encased him in a pillar of ice that she raised high from the ground. When she dropped him, he fell to the ground unconscious.

Sokka jumped off of Appa, rushing over to Aang to cut his bonds. “Hey! This is some quality rope!” He commented, before moving to Y/n to free her as well.

“We need to get to the oasis! The spirits are in trouble!” Aang got up, and ran to Appa, while Sokka helped Y/n to her feet.

Everyone was on the bison, ready for take off, but Aang hesitated on leaving, looking towards Zuko’s knocked out form. “Wait, we can’t just leave him here.”

“Sure we can. Let’s go.”

Y/n shook her head softly. “No, Aang’s right, we can’t leave him. He could die.”

Aang jumped off Appa, and grabbed Zuko to bring him up onto the bison. Sokka watched him with a somewhat exasperated expression. “Yeah, this makes a lot of sense. Let’s bring the guy who’s constantly trying to kill us!”

As they started to fly back to the Spirit Oasis, the moon changed to a blood red, casting a red light over everything. This seemed to affect Yue, who held her head in pain, letting out a groan.

Sokka looked at her concerned. “Are you okay?”

“I feel faint.”

Aang, with a hand to his head, looked at the moon. “I feel it too. The Moon Spirit is in trouble.”

Yue glanced at the moon as well. “I owe the Moon Spirit my life.”

“What do you mean?” Sokka questioned.

“When I was born I was very sick and very weak. Most babies cry when they’re born… But I was born as if I were asleep. My eyes closed. Our healers did everything they could. They told my mother and father I was going to die. My father pleaded with the spirits to save me… that night, beneath the full moon, he brought me to the oasis and placed me in the pond. My dark hair turned white, I opened my eyes and began to cry- and they knew I would live. That’s why my mother named me Yue, for the moon.”

They neared the oasis as Yue finished her story, to find Zhao there- a bag in hand and Momo on his head trying to stop him from what he was doing. The group got off Appa when he landed, sans Yue and Zuko, ready to fight Zhao and the other Fire Nation soldiers in the oasis.

“Don’t bother!” Zhao held a knife to the bag he had, which must have had the Moon Spirit trapped inside.

Aang dropped his staff, raising his hands in surrender. “Zhao! Don’t!”

“It’s my destiny… to destroy the Moon… and the Water Tribe.”

Y/n glared at the man, resisting her urge to attack him. “You’re insane.”

“Destroying the moon won’t just hurt the Water Tribe. It will hurt everyone- including you. Without the moon, everything would fall out of balance. You have no idea what kind of chaos that would unleash on the world.” Aang tried to reason with him, but Y/n wasn’t sure words alone would stop the man.

“He is right, Zhao!” Heads turned to Iroh, as he approached.

“General Iroh, why am I not surprised to discover your treachery?” Zhao spoke in a bored tone.

Iroh lowered his hood. “I’m no traitor, Zhao, the Fire Nation needs the moon too. We all depend on the balance.”

Unsurprisingly, Zhao continued to hold his threat on the Moon Spirit, the knife he held at the bag it was captive in not dropping.

“Whatever you do to that spirit I’ll unleash on you ten-fold!” Iroh pointed a finger at Zhao, before taking on a firebending stance. “LET IT GO, NOW!”

After a moment of stillness, Zhao faltered, lowering the bag. He kneeled and released the fish of the Moon Spirit back into the pond. The red light casted from the moon returned back to normal.

Seeing something move in the corner of her eye, Y/n’s attention moved to the right, just in time for her to see a figure sneaking away. Careful not to draw attention to herself, she followed after them, noting that Zuko was missing from Appa’s saddle as she snuck by. He was taking the chance to sneak away, while everyone was focused on Zhao. If she had anything to say about it, he wouldn’t be getting far.

In her pursuit, the moon fell dark, probably thanks to Zhao. It’s not a surprise that he would try and kill the moon spirit, even after letting it go. Keeping her distance and staying as hidden as she can, Y/n continued to follow Zuko- Only stopping when he did. Eyebrows furrowing together, she watched as he shot a blast of flames to a lower area from where they stood- Which was shot at Zhao.

The man stopped in his steps, looking up at Zuko incredulously. “You’re alive?”

“You tried to have me killed!”

He shot several more blasts at Zhao, which he was able to dodge. When he tried to run off in the other direction, Y/n moved quickly to grab her bow and an arrow, shooting it at the ground in front of him. Both Zhao and Zuko were shocked by this, not having noticed her before.

“You tried to have him killed?!”

Zhao’s gaze darted between the two, before primarily focusing on Zuko. “Yes, I did. You’re the Blue Spirit- and enemy of the Fire Nation! You freed the Avatar!” Pausing, he pointed to Y/n. “And her!” His words dripped with venom.

“I had no choice!”

Zuko fired several more attacks at Zhao, while Y/n readied an arrow- though she waited to shoot it until the right moment. Zhao avoided the attacks, removing and dropping his smoking cloak as they subsided. “You should have chosen to accept your failure- your disgrace! Then, at least you could have lived.”

Returning the fire, the two end up in a short exchange of attacks, before Zuko blasted Zhao in the chest, knocking him down. Having seemed to realize Y/n was waiting for the right moment for attack, Zuko glanced at her. “Now.”

Though she didn’t need his signal- In quick succession she fired two arrows at Zhao, one pinning his sleeve to the ground, the other pinning his pant leg. The two jumped down to the lower level Zhao was, landing on either side of him as he struggled to free his clothes from the arrows. Zuko took on a firebending stance, while Y/n pulled another arrow through her bow. They both waited to attack, watching the man carefully.

Finally wiggling the arrow free from his shirt sleeve, he scoffed, looking between the two. “Two traitors working together again, hm? I’m not surprised at this point.”

Y/n narrowed her eyes when the Admiral quit trying to wiggle the arrow pinning his pant leg down free, quickly pivoting on her heel at realization. Twisting to the side, she narrowly dodged the arrow when he threw it at her. This initiated the fight once again, Zuko sending a relentless stream of attacks. Realizing her bow wasn’t going to get her anywhere in a close range fight, Y/n hooked it away onto her quiver, running at Zhao while he traded fire blasts with Zuko. She grabbed onto his arm as he tried to send an attack at the prince, yanking it to the side so the blast shot to the right. He twisted his other arm to send a fireball right into her face, which she was able to duck away from as she released his arm. The momentary distraction gave Zuko the opening to shoot a powerful blast at Zhao, knocking him back a bit.

Unable to keep his attention on both of them at once, Y/n was able to swipe her leg at his ankles while he was focused on Zuko, knocking him down. Not relenting, Zhao shot a blast at Y/n, catching her off guard and knocking her down. She rolled out of the way of another blast, before Zuko helped her off the ground- While firing at Zhao. The two looked at each other briefly, sharing a nod.

Running at Zhao once again, Y/n twisted, ducked and dodged the attacks sent at her, while also giving room for Zuko to send his own blasts at the man. Once close enough, she started throwing punches at Zhao, taking his attention in the fight. The close proximity of the fight didn’t stop him from using his fire, leaving parts of her clothes to be singed. She ducked when he tried to punch her with a blazing fist, giving the opening for Zuko to send another powerful blast at Zhao, knocking him down once again.

He didn’t get up this time, rather looking past the two with a horror ridden expression. “It can’t be!”

Furrowing her eyebrows, Y/n turned to see what he was looking at- The moon. In the heat of the battle, she hadn’t noticed it started to shine bright once again.

Suddenly, water rose up coalescing around the bridge they were on, taking the form of a large fish like creature. It reached out and grabbed Zhao, pulling him off the bridge. He struggled against it, before Zuko reached out to him. “Take my hand!”

For a moment, it seemed like he was going to grasp onto Zuko’s hand, but instead drew back- an expression of hate taking over his features. Zhao was taken under the surface of the water, disappearing. Crossing her arms, Y/n looked at the surface of the water in near disbelief.

Silence lingered in the air, it only being broken when Zuko quietly cleared his throat. Looking up from the surface of the water, she glanced over at him. He took a minute, before speaking up.

“Listen, Y/n… I’m… sorry. For everything. I- Ugh, what am I even trying to say here.”

She raised an eyebrow in amusement. “That you’re sorry?”

“Yes- Wait, I already said that..” He breathed out a sigh, holding a hand to his forehead. Laughing softly, she held out her hand.

“Truce?”

He hesitated for a moment, before grasping onto her hand, a soft smile tugging up his lips. “Truce.”

Tugging him a step closer, Y/n put an arm around his neck, bringing him into a hug. Zuko tensed at the action, but returned it nonetheless.

“We can still be friends..” Mumbling quietly, she broke away from the hug. “But I need to get back to them.”

“I.. understand.” He paused. “Actually, no, I don’t. But… I won’t stop you.”

Offering a small smile, she slipped past him, intending to go back to the oasis. She stopped on the way there, however, seeing that her friends were gathered. Katara waved her over, inviting her into the group hug they were currently sharing. Running over, she joined them, a wide smile on her face.

---

Sea water gently splashed up against the sides of the boat, spraying past the railings. The more Y/n sat with her back against them, her head leaned back, the more the back of her shirt and her hair dampened from the water. Eyes closed, she took in a deep breath. With her terrible track record on boats, she didn’t know that being out at sea could be so… relaxing.

“Can’t sleep?”

She shook her head softly in response. “You can’t either?”

Sokka breathed out a quiet, somewhat tense, laugh. “No..” He paused for a short moment. “Do you mind?”

Opening her eyes to see that he was motioning to the space on the deck next to her, Y/n offered a soft smile. “Not at all.”

Muttering a small thanks, he gave a weak smile in return, before settling down next to her. He sat close enough for their shoulders to press together, the close proximity made her heart race.

Silence lingered over them for a long moment, before Y/n spoke up. “I heard what happened… With Yue.”

Breathing out a soft sigh, Sokka tilted his head back, looking up at the moon. “Yeah… I figured you would.”

“I’m sorry for bringing it up but- I just wanted to say if you ever need someone to talk to, I’m always right here.”

“Thanks..” He paused for a moment. “You know, I went to that shop you were working at once when you weren’t there. I was trying to catch you there, that… didn’t work out- Obviously.” He breathed out a quiet chuckle, digging into his coat pocket. “But I did meet that lady you worked for, and she asked me to make sure this got to you.” He held out a bracelet, the one she’d been looking at in the shop before she started working there.

Her eyes widened slightly. “I forgot about that.”

“That’s why she asked me to give it to you. Let me see your wrist.” He tied the bracelet around her wrist, once she held it out to him.

“Thanks.” She spoke with a smile, twisting her wrist slightly causing the stone to glint in the moonlight.

“It’s no problem.” Smirking, he took on a slightly teasing tone. “I didn’t expect you to be a jewelry person.”

Pressing a hand to her chest, she feigned an over exaggerated offence. “Just because I lived in a forest and can fight better than you doesn’t mean I can’t like girly things.”

He looked at her offended. “You cannot fight better than me!” She leaned a bit closer to him, raising an eyebrow. “You wanna test that theory?”

Falling silent, he gulped. “No, I think I’m good.”

They were both quiet, before breaking into a short fit of laughter. Leaning back against the boat's railing, Y/n hugged one of her knees to her chest.

Once again, silence fell over them. After a few moments, a sudden weight was on her shoulder. Tensing slightly, she looked to the side, to see that Sokka had fallen asleep- His head now leaning on her shoulder. She opened her mouth to wake him up, but stopped herself.

Something in her didn’t want to wake him up… The closeness was… Nice.

Letting her eyes fall closed, she leaned her head back, absentmindedly fiddling with the bracelet tied around her wrist. She felt so calm, but still her heart raced, and she wasn’t sure why.

With certain thoughts and memories coming to mind, however, the pieces started to fit together.

And it was in that moment, Y/n realized.

[pikablu410]

pikablu’s Holiday-Christmas Special Thingy

Hello all! It’s a giving time of year, so I’m going to give you all some (hopefully) pleasant gifts! I’m gonna cover a few things in this post, namely:

-What I’ll be doing for my holiday-themed story (which I will definitely for sure post on time)

-Some future ideas I have, and what you all think of them

-More questions for you guys

-Some insight to the next story I’ll be writing (after the previously mentioned holiday story)

Since it’s the season of giving (and I love giving things), I’ve decided to give away the next story! By this, I mean I’m going to let someone in the community decide what the next story will be about. I’ll collect various ideas for stories from all of my followers (and other lovely people seeing this) and make a poll with my favorite ideas. The deadline for story ideas will be next Tuesday, the 21st I’ll send out the poll of my favorite submitted ideas that night and the story will (should) be out by Christmas day (the 25th). If no one submits any ideas, then I have some back ups, so no need to worry about no presents this holiday season!

Looking into the future, I’d like to hear more from y’all. I love criticism, despite my ego being more fragile than a set of china in an old comedy film. I would love if more people gave feedback about my stories, because as of right now I just go off of how popular they are. I’m opening my ask box so people can say anything there, and my DMs (or PMs, whatever you wanna call them) are always open for new ideas and criticisms of any stories I write! However, I particularly made this section because I want to test the waters for everyone. My stories have been OCs (original characters) thus far, but I would like to branch out into writing stories about celebrities, or just famous individuals in general. This may not be for everyone, so I’d like to hear what everyone has to say. 

On the topic of feedback, I’ve created a google form that you all can fill out at your own leisure. It includes questions about what you like, dislike, ideas for potential new stories and what you’d like to see in the future. I would really appreciate it if you took a second to fill it out! (Please please it’s like 5 questions I would really appreciate any answers you have for me :))))))))

https://forms.gle/9XifJEd5dPtDp3LPA

And finally, the next story that I’ll be writing after the holiday story (if no other circumstances arise.) Here’s a synopsis:

Brian is known within his town’s gay community as one of the hottest twinks around. He goes to extreme lengths to stay up to date with fashion, his health and his reputation. While his boyfriend, Tom, does love him, he’s been getting a bit annoyed by Brian’s behavior, especially since he’s the only one making consistent cash in their house. When Tom asks Brian to take part in an experiment that would pay for their expenses for the next decade, Brian finds it hard to tell his partner no.

I hope you’re interested! It’ll be a little different than my other stories, but still have the same topics that you all enjoy.

That’s all from me for now. I hope everyone is doing well, and I apologize for the lack of updates recently. I should be much less busy in the coming weeks. Have a happy holiday season all!

[bonniebird]

8

Tommy x Reader

Living with Mr Shelby

Living with Mr Shelby Masterlist

Birmingham was quite this morning, to quiet I thought to myself as I quickened my pace so I could open the bookies on time. Jumping down the steps two at a time. John's kids were sick so Esme had to take the day off and after much persuading Tommy had let me take her place. He was on edge ever since his Blinders in London had informed Danny that Kimber was on his way to Birmingham.

Danny and Rosie had moved to a large country house halfway between London and Birmingham where Rosie and Danny ran a sort of open house for the Peaky Blinders. If you had a message it was sent to Danny or the Shelby's themselves several Blinders had stopped by after the races and Rosie soon saw a change for the better in Danny, pleasing Tommy to no end.

"You're late." Arthur muttered without looking up as I used the side door to enter the bookies so I wouldn't have to deal with the swarm of people outside.

"I know sorry... what are you doing?" I asked once I walked into the room and saw John loading up several guns, Arthur was stitching a new razor blade into Finn's hat and I could see the brand new blade in Arthur's hat already placed carefully on his head.

"We got trouble comin, Kimber ain't alone." He said in a gruff voice I glanced up at the stairs that led to a long corridor with two doors at the end one led to Arthur's office the other to John's house there was a similar one on the opposite side that I had just come from leading to Tommy's office or to the balcony that led to our house. Esme was leaning on the banister watching the Shelby's carefully and looked exhausted.

"Are there enough free men to keep the bookies open?" I asked knowing that Esme, Polly, Ada and myself would never be able to deal with the huge amount of regulars we normally got let alone the hundreds of people who turned up to place bets before the big race this weekend.

"Finn and the younger Blinders are gonna help, think we got two men that are gonna stay at the bookies to help ones a Lee he should be here soon... you gonna check on Tommy?" He added the last part with a curious tone. I had discovered that the Garrison was holding a bet on whether I would be swept up by Tommy or we'd fall out and I'd vanish like another girl, I hadn't found out who this other girl was but I was determined to find out. The betting was made worse by the hundred pound bet from Tommy for us getting together something he liked to use to wind me up.

"No he's in an awful mood I'd rather avoid him." I muttered making John and Finn cheer, they had bet that I would vanish and would often try to cause arguments just to get their money but Tommy had wised up rather quickly and would joke around with them.

"Well I'd go up in a second Poll and Tommy are talking it'll save him explaining everythin' twice." Esme offered, I nodded bitterly and dumped my jumper on one of the tables that was usually weighed down with coins and ascended the stairs I had just climbed down.

Poll and Tommy both turned quickly as if readying themselves for a fight but instantly relaxed a little when they saw it was me. Tommy finished explaining what to do in emergencies once he was done Poll left leaving me and Tommy alone. The room was filled with an awkward silence which was broken when Tommy started tipping bullets out onto his desk and finally decided to talk to me.

"You're still ignoring me? You know the bet at the Garrison's just a joke." Tommy muttered as he glanced at me, I shrugged and sat in the big chair behind his desk making him raise an eyebrow and began looking over his hat making sure the razor blades were stitched in properly. I sighed at Tommy's shoddy handy work as one slipped out onto the desk with a gentle clatter.

"Why's he coming?" I asked Tommy as I opened the top draw of his desk and fished out the strong string he used to keep his razors in place and began stitching them back into his hat.

"He's annoyed with us." Tommy's voice was gentle but there was a forced tone that told me I wasn't allowed to press the situation any more than I had. Once I was done I handed Tommy his cap and he inspected it closely, nodded and slid it carefully onto his head.

There was an awkwardness between us after that, if we had been closer I would have kissed him on the cheek and wished him luck, if we were on worse terms I would have shaken his hand but we were how we were, Something that seemed to puzzle Tommy and I over the short time I had known him, Poll's voice drifted up the stairs calling for Tommy who didn't seem ready to move.

"You'll be fine Tommy." I whispered, putting a hand on his arm. In one movement Tommy placed his hands on my hips, kissed me gently on the forehead and strode out of the room so quickly the only way I knew it had really happened was the tingling sensation on my forehead.

                                         **************************

"Girls. Last takings! We need to get to the boys, the fight didn't go too well." I looked up and saw the tall man that was engaged to Ada, I think his name was Freddie but I couldn't quite remember, so I nodded without addressing him and he quickly hurried to the back to tell Poll.

"Last takings." I yelled and soon heard Ada and Esme's voices echoing my own, most bookies didn't do a last takings they just stayed open till the queue had died down but this was something Tommy and Poll had put in place the staff knew that if the phrase last takings was shouted they had ten minutes to finish up and get to the Garrison for further orders from the Peaky Blinders unless they were told otherwise. I glanced to my left where Finn was struggling to write down the names of customers, my queue had died down so I told him to leave with Poll who was hurriedly shutting the doors stopping any new customers from coming in.

Once the bookies had emptied Poll told Esme to go home where John was being checked over after being hit rather hard in the face. Poll comforted Esme by telling her that Freddie said it was probably just a broken nose. Ada was sent with Freddie and Finn to check up on Arthur and some of the other Blinders, the men who were with us for the day were sent to check on everyone that was involved and to give them money towards medicine and doctors bills.

"We're going up to see Tommy." Was all Poll said once the doors were locked I nodded and followed the older woman up the stairs and handed her the key to the side door. Tommy was sat on the sofa with no shirt on nursing, a nasty looking cut across his ribs; Poll winced as she tried to look at the cut making Tommy hiss under his breath.

"Well your swearing like a trooper so it aint that fuckin bad." Poll muttered she glanced up at me and motioned for me to come over and started ordering me to get bowls and water. She told Tommy she'd be back with painkillers once she'd checked on the rest of her nephews and left me to clean up the wound and stitch Tommy up. I was sure I looked more nervous at the thought of poking Tommy with a needle than Tommy did.

He chuckled as I gently dabbed around the wound on his chest trying not to get to close to him and pulled me so I was stood between his legs, he lent to the side so I could reach the wound sucking air between his teeth as I pushed a little too hard just below the wound.

"I don't think I can do that." I said pointing and the needle and thread that Poll had left out for me. I looked at Tommy and found it difficult not to stare at the large wound that was most likely left from a bullet. Before I could stop myself I was tracing the star like scar making Tommy hum and drop his head back onto the back of the seat. Heavy footsteps made me jerk my hand away from him and Arthur stomped into the room fresh cuts that had clearly been cleaned covered his face and soon I was pushed aside so he and Poll who hurried into the room with some nasty smelling home remedy could stitch up Tommy's wound properly.

[deja-you]

foreign affairs | part one | paris

m. de lafayette x reader

summary: In 2020, Representative Y/n L/n is up for reelection. Lafayette, Y/n’s former best friend and current French socialite and playboy, decides this is the time to walk back into her life.

word count: 6.8k

trailer | next

2012 was the year he broke his arm and broke her heart.

During her sophomore year of college, Y/n decided she wanted to study abroad in France. She had taken a few years of French in high school and college, not enough to be fluent, but enough to hold a short conversation. Lots of college students studied abroad, and seeing as Y/n was majoring in Political Science and International Affairs, it made sense.

Paying for a year abroad was another story. Since her senior year in high school, Y/n had been saving up the money she earned from waitressing, and with the help from her parents, she was just able to afford the trip to France. 

During the first week in Paris, faculty members took students around the city to see different attractions. Most students went to see the Eiffel Tower or the Arc de Triomphe. Y/n preferred to see France’s president’s residence, the Élysée Palace. It was built back in 1718, and the beige colored stone -- we don’t really care what this building looked like, do we? It’s a building in Paris, of course it had beautiful architecture. We’re all wondering why this is significant, right? 

Okay, so Y/n loved politics and history and foundations of democracy and republicanism. She was standing outside the French White House (it’s not really white, we’ve covered this, it’s more of a beige color, but I think “White House” is a term we all understand). Y/n was probably admiring the architecture that your author is refusing to describe. Now this is where it gets more interesting. 

“Pretty building, isn’t it?” 

A man leaning against one wall was watching Y/n while he lit his cigarette. He had spoken plainly in English; was it that obvious that Y/n was American.

“It’s beautiful,” Y/n replied politely.

“Very. Soon it’s going to be my home.”

This piqued Y/n’s interest. “Are you running for president? I can’t remember anyone that looked like you in the polls.”

If she was being honest, she had never met anyone that looked like him in general. Charming brown eyes, curly hair, neat stubble, and a smile she would’ve remembered. He gave her an amused look and raised his cigarette to his lips. 

“You wouldn’t,” he replied, then offered his hand for her to shake. “You can call me Lafayette.”

Y/n shook his hand, but she was still confused. “And you’re running for president, Lafayette? I have to say, you might need to work on your name recognition.”

“I am not running for president, chérie. Perhaps you’re more familiar with my mother, Jolie de la Rivière?” 

He watched as the realization hit her. 

“Jolie de la Rivière? As in the frontrunner in the presidential election?”

“The very one. I am surprised an American keeps up with French politics.”

It made sense now. Y/n could see the resemblance between this stranger she had just met and the future French president. De la Rivière had been leading in the polls since she announced her campaign, and it was almost certain that she would win the election in April. Y/n just happened to run into de la Rivière’s son?

“You want to get something to eat?” Lafayette asked, seemingly out of the blue.

Y/n was still in shock, but she nodded, wanting to know more about the man she had just met. “Okay.”

They crossed the street to a café (there was a café at nearly every corner in Paris) and took seats outside. Y/n let Lafayette order for both of them even though she knew enough French to order herself, she didn’t want to give him any reason to make fun of her poor French accent. 

“So,” Lafayette said, watching Y/n curiously, “you’re an American in Paris, huh?”

“I suppose so. But less “starving artist” vibes and less musical numbers,” Y/n quipped. Was she really talking to the son of the future French president, and he was asking about her?

“So if you’re not a starving artist, what are you doing in Paris?”

“I’m a student at Georgetown and I’m spending the semester studying abroad,” Y/n informed him.

“What are you majoring in?”

“Political Science and International Affairs.”

“Political Science at Georgetown? You must be smart. Will I see you running for president some day?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. 

She laughed. “I don’t know about that. Maybe I’ll find a job working on a campaign or for a Senator. I don’t have it all worked out yet.”

“Neither do I,” Lafayette said. This made Y/n pause. She could tell he was a few years older than her. He was also Jolie de la Rivière’s son. How could he not have his whole life worked out?

“What’d you mean?” Y/n asked.

He shrugged. “Everyone expects me to follow in my mother’s footsteps. It’s not that I’m not interested in politics and government, I just... I just don’t want to live in her shadow forever.”

“I see,” Y/n said. “At least you’ll have connections no matter what you decide to do.”

“That is very true.”

They continued talking for an hour or so. Lafayette would ask her what it was like living in the United States. Y/n would ask him what it was like having a powerhouse mom. The conversation came easily to both of them, something Y/n had never expected from a stranger. 

When the bill came, Y/n ultimately let Lafayette pay for their lunch after much protesting (Y/n only allowed for him to pay because she was a broke college student). Then Lafayette asked for Y/n’s phone number, which she gladly gave to him. He promised he’d call or text sometime and they went their separate ways.

He said he’d call, but Y/n was expecting within the next few days or weeks. She was not expecting him to call her only a few hours later.

“Y/n, hey!” Came his voice from the other line.

“Lafayette? Hi?”

“I know this is sudden, but there’s this concert at a small venue tonight. I have a few tickets, and I was wondering if you and some of your friends wanted to join me tonight?”

“Um, okay, yeah?”

“Great! I’ll send you the information.”

And then he hung up. True to his word, he sent her a text with the time and address a few minutes later. Y/n invited two of her suite mates, Rebecca and Joe, to come with her. Then a few hours later, they showed up at a small but lively concert venue. Lafayette met them there, wearing a more casual outfit, and they all went in together.

Y/n honestly couldn’t remember who was performing that night. She didn’t remember much, but she knew she had more drinks than she should’ve, that the music was loud, and that the room was incredibly hot. What she couldn’t forget was the headache she woke up with the next morning. At the very least, she had made it into her own bed even though she hadn’t made it out of the clothes she had worn out the night before. 

She grabbed her water bottle from beside the bed and took a long drink. When that didn’t help, she went to find Rebecca or Joe to ask what had happened the night before. Rebecca’s room was closer, so she knocked on the door before opening it.

“Hey, Rebec-- Oh my god!”

She quickly shut her eyes but she wouldn’t be able to unsee partially naked Lafayette struggling to quickly put his clothes back on. Y/n cringed and closed the door quickly behind her. What had she just seen? Why was Lafayette in Rebecca’s room? And why was he naked?

“Y/n, mon dieu, you weren’t supposed to see that!” Lafayette had finished dressing and followed Y/n out of the room, closing the door behind him.

“What exactly was that?” Y/n asked.

He held a finger to his lips and motioned at the door. “Rebecca’s still asleep.”

“So you and... that happened?”

Lafayette rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Ah, I guess so. It was all a blur... but, yeah.”

“We all got pretty drunk last night,” Y/n justified. 

“Er, not exactly. You and Joe had a lot of drinks, but Rebecca and I decided to stay sober enough to get everyone back. So once we got you and Joe home, well, we kind of...” He trailed off and his eyes dropped to the floor.

“Oh. I see.” Y/n didn’t know what to say. “Are you and Rebecca like... a thing now?”

He shrugged. “Maybe? I don’t know.”

Lafayette really didn’t know. Neither did Rebecca. 

In the next two weeks, they hooked up a few more times before deciding they were best off as friends. After that, it was a Parisian girl named Celeste. Y/n quickly got used to Lafayette’s flirtatious nature and him constantly bringing around a new girl. Sometimes it was annoying, sometimes it was a point of humor. It didn’t matter too much to Y/n, she was content being friends with him. 

They grew close quickly, and soon enough Y/n couldn’t remember what her life had been like before him. There was no one Y/n preferred to discuss foreign policy with than Lafayette, and there was no one Lafayette would rather annoy than Y/n. At one point, Lafayette took Y/n to one of his mother’s rallies, and Y/n spent more time than necessary explaining to Lafayette’s mom how big a fan she was. Lafayette nearly had to drag her away so that actual constituents could talk to his mom. 

But most days it was more casual stuff. Sometimes Lafayette would sit on Y/n’s phone and take a ridiculous amount of selfies on her phone while she worked on homework. Other times they would take spontaneous trips to the grocery store at night to pick up ingredients for fried rice. Every Tuesday, Lafayette and Y/n’s roommate, Molly, would listen to Y/n rant about wage gaps between different demographics in America after her Economics class. And sometimes they would make fun of cheesy romcoms together.

“I don’t understand your obsession with Nora Ephron, Y/n,” Lafayette complained, although he was dutifully pouring extra butter onto their popcorn for the movie.

“She only directed the best romantic comedies ever!” Y/n defended. 

“But why is Meg Ryan in all of her movies?”

“Because Meg Ryan is the best!”

“I still don’t understand the appeal of this movie. So a kid calls a radio show and Meg Ryan falls in love with him?” Lafayette asked.

Y/n rolled her eyes. “No, Meg Ryan falls in love with the dad! Don’t be ridiculous.”

“But she’s never actually met the dad?”

“...well, no.”

“I don’t understand Americans.”

“You just need to watch it!”

Seeing that he wasn’t making any headway with Y/n, Lafayette sighed and resigned to his position on the couch. Grabbing a blanket, Y/n happily settled down on the couch beside Lafayette and started the movie. Every now and then Lafayette would scoff at some cheesy line or make some comment and Y/n would be quick to shush him. Eventually all the popcorn had been eaten and the end credits began to roll.

“So what did you think?” Y/n asked eagerly.

Lafayette shrugged. “I don’t know. I just can’t get over the fact that she just left her fiancé like that.”

She rolled her eyes.

Months ago, Y/n never would have imagined she’d be invited to an election watch party for Jolie de la Rivière, but now she wasn’t so surprised. De la Rivière’s campaign had rented out an upscale restaurant that was packed to its max occupancy. Lafayette’s mother spent most of the evening schmoozing her voters and speaking with interviewers, allowing for Y/n and Lafayette to sit by the bar and mess around.

“Okay, okay, be serious this time. Don’t smile.”

“I won’t! I promise I won’t,” Y/n said.

“We’ll see. On the count of three... one... two...”

“Wait! I’m not ready!” Y/n couldn’t help but burst out into laughter, a smile spreading across her face. 

Lafayette rolled his eyes. “I do not know what to do with you.”

“I can be serious.”

“No, you can’t.”

“I can! Just watch.” She looked away and focused on making her expression resolute and steely.  Y/n slowly looked up to meet Lafayette’s eyes and they stared at each other for a few seconds with straight faces. Then Lafayette had the gall to arch one of his eyebrows and Y/n broke once again. 

“That’s not fair. I was doing perfectly fine before you cheated!” Y/n complained.

“It’s not my fault that you can’t keep a straight face, Y/n.” He sighed and took a sip of his drink. “I can’t blame you. I’m so devilishly good looking, most women can’t keep it together around me.”

Now it was Y/n’s turn to roll her eyes. “I can assure you that’s not the problem here. Maybe I keep laughing because you’re so funny looking.”

“Haha. You think you’re so clever, don’t you?”

When she didn’t respond, Lafayette tried again. “Y/n?”

“Lafayette, look.” She pointed to a TV hung over the bar.

A reporter on the screen was announcing that De la Rivière had won a landslide election. Then the screen cut to another reporter who was at the restaurant interviewing De la Rivière in person. Y/n and Lafayette’s eyes traveled across the room to see his mother talking to the reporter. The same scene playing on the TV overhead. 

“Did that really just happen?”

Lafayette’s mom had been ahead in the polls for months now, and everyone expected her to win the election. But now she really had won. Lafayette was the President-elect’s son. Both Y/n and Lafayette knew this was probably going to happen, but now that it had, neither of them really knew what to do. 

Everything after that was a blur. They celebrated that night, having a few more drinks. Enough alcohol to have a good time, but not enough to get totally drunk in an effort not to embarrass Lafayette’s mom on her big night. After that, Y/n didn’t see Lafayette for a while. He was busy getting prepped by his mom’s staff to be the perfect son and getting assigned a new security detail. 

Y/n didn’t mind all that much. Sure, she missed him, but now that he was gone, she could spend more time actually working on her school work and getting more sleep. How had she gotten anything done when he was around? It was during the month when Lafayette and Y/n didn’t see each other at all that Molly slapped a magazine down on the table where Y/n was eating breakfast.

“What’s this?” Y/n asked, picking up the glossy magazine.

“Apparently Lafayette is France’s most eligible bachelor,” Molly informed her.  

Y/n scoffed and looked over the cover of the magazine. Lafayette was casually leaning against a wall in the photo wearing a fitted suit and a colorful bowtie. He had a casual grin on his face, and his facial hair was trimmed neatly. 

“Has Lafayette always been this hot?” Y/n muttered.

Molly gave her a look. “Yes. Yes, he has.”

“He might be a bachelor, but I don’t know if I would call him eligible.”

“What’s wrong with Lafayette?” Molly took the magazine from Y/n and flipped to the fluff piece written about him. “He’s handsome, and charismatic, and intelligent. I would date him.”

Y/n watched her roommate admire the photos of Lafayette and realized this wasn’t the first time Molly had considered the thought. How many times had Y/n watched Molly laugh at something Lafayette said that wasn’t even funny? 

A buzz came from Y/n’s phone and she welcomed the distraction from her thoughts. Of course the text just had to be from Lafayette. She hadn’t seen him in forever, and he just happened to next her now? Yes, because it’s going to move the plot along. 

Paint the town red w/ me tonight? The text read. Bring some friends and we’ll make it a party.

She shot back a text asking him if he was even allowed to hangout with commoners now that his mom was the president. He sent back a sarcastic haha and assured her he had it all worked out.

Molly was a little too excited when Y/n asked her to come hangout with Lafayette, but what did Y/n care? If Molly liked Lafayette, Y/n didn’t care. Why should she care if her roommate wanted to date her best friend? She did her best to stop thinking about it. Molly let her borrow a dress that was shorter than Y/n was comfortable with and they headed out with a few of their friends to meet at a bar Lafayette had texted them about. 

He was thirty minutes late, and Y/n would’ve been annoyed she hadn’t expected it from him. He fed everyone some charming story about having to ditch his security detail. Y/n wanted to point out to him how irresponsible he was being, but honestly, she was just glad to see him again. When he was done enchanting their friends with his stories of his grandiose lifestyle, everyone returned to their drinks and Lafayette finally had the chance to sidle up to Y/n and sling an Armani-clad arm around her shoulders. 

“Been a while, stranger?” He gave her an impish grin.

“And who’s fault is that?”

Lafayette’s eyebrows shot up and he pouted. “Aw, chérie, you know I couldn’t help it. I’ve been busy, it hasn’t been easy, this last month.”

“Right. ‘Cause living in a literal palace must be so difficult.”

“I forgot how sarcastic you can be.”

She shrugged and gave him a self-satisfied smile. 

“Maybe you’ll be nicer after a few drinks,” he suggested.

“...it wouldn’t hurt.”

His smile was wide and she had forgotten how much she had missed it. Lafayette leaned forward and ordered a round of drinks, and just like that, it was like they hadn’t been apart at all. Their friendship was easy like that. 

After two drinks, Y/n was laughing louder than anyone in the bar. Lafayette urged her to quiet down, but by the way wrinkles formed by his eyes and he laughed along quietly, they both knew he wasn’t serious about it at all. It was after they had started taking shots that they decided they were too hot to stay indoors. The night was young, and Lafayette had already hatched a plan in his mind.

“Let’s go to a park,” he announced to their small group.

There was a chorus of enthusiastic agreement. Y/n, more than a few drinks in, was still hesitant. 

“Everything is probably closed at this time. Don’t you think you should be getting home?” She asked. 

“C’mon, Y/n,” Molly chimed in, “it’ll be fun. There’s no harm to it.”

Y/n wanted to argue that there very well could be harm to it, but Lafayette was too fast.

“Molly’s right. Besides, I don’t know when I’ll get a night of freedom again. Better make the most of it, oui?”  

Lafayette must’ve earned his magnetism from his constant exposure to politicians. He would make a great politician if he ever decided to apply himself, Y/n thought. It wasn’t the first time she had thought this. 

Everyone listened to him almost like they were hypnotized, and before she knew it, they were standing outside a small park. A small closed park. Y/n knew she shouldn’t be committing a crime with the French president’s son, but the group had a mob mentality now. Anyway, Lafayette had his mind set on breaking into the park now. There was nothing anyone could’ve one to change his mind at this point. 

Y/n still felt she had to try. “It’s closed. Everyone should just go home.”

“Nonsense,” Lafayette said. 

“What’s your plan? Hop the fence?”

“Why not?” Molly asked. “It’s not that high.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Y/n responded. 

But seeing the look on Lafayette’s face, she could tell he didn’t share her opinion on fence hopping. She watched him give a curious look to Molly. A look she recognized. There was always a twinkle in his eye when he was about to do something stupid to impress a girl. Y/n sighed, threw her hands up in defeat, and let him make his idiotic decisions.

And idiotic they were. Enough alcohol will give you the mindless bravery needed to attempt to jump a fence to impress a girl. That’s how Lafayette broke his arm. 

Dealing with drunk, twenty-something-year-old French boys seemed like a walk in the park compared to dealing with the morons that, by some miracle, had been elected to the United States Congress. Y/n didn’t consider herself to be one of those moronic representatives, but she was sure some members of the Republican party had some choice words they used to describe her. 

“We have a system that is fundamentally broken,” Y/n spoke into the microphone in front of her. Today she was asking questions at a hearing concerning campaign finance laws. Tomorrow it would be working on passing a bipartisan bill or going to some fundraiser for her reelection campaign. 

“So would you say that Congress is held to the same rate of accountability as the president, the executive branch? Are there more regulations for Senators and Congressman, in regards to campaign financing than the president? Or less, Mr. Conway?” She asked. 

The man in question, Mr. Conway, shifted uncomfortably in his seat before responding to the question, “there are almost no laws at all that apply to the president.”

Y/n was satisfied with his answer, but still she pressed on. “Are you saying that I, and every member of congress, are being held to a higher standard than the president of the United States?”

“...yes.”

“Thank you.”

The hearing wrapped up with all the formalities, and Y/n gathered up all her notes. She made her way from the committee hearing room to her office, knowing that her campaign manager and second-in-command, Nathan Hale, would be ready to tell her what else she had on the schedule for today. She found him sitting on the visitor’s side of her desk, his feet propped up on a chair.

“You did great in there,” he said casually.

She raised an eyebrow as she dropped all her notes from the hearing on her desk and sunk down into the seat. “You stayed and listened?”

“For most of it. I had to leave early,” he admitted. “There were some... issues I had to look at.”

“Issues?”

“Secretary Jefferson tweeted about you. You’re going to want to see it.”

Y/n groaned outwardly. “No, Nathan, I don’t think I will.”

“You’re probably right, but you should be informed nonetheless.” He handed her her phone, already opened to Jefferson’s tweet. It was nothing she hadn’t seen or heard before. Just another politician attacking her character and claiming she was a talentless kid who didn’t belong in politics.

She furrowed her brows as she quickly typed out a response to his tweet. That’s interesting, coming from a man whose entire career was built off his daddy’s money. 

“What do you think?” She handed the phone to Nathan to read over her tweet. “Too harsh? Not harsh enough?”

He laughed. “It’s perfect. Anddddd... send tweet. Did we just enter into a twitter war with the former Secretary of State and the Republican presidential nominee? This feels like middle school drama, not running a country.”

Y/n only shrugged. “All I have to say,” Y/n muttered as she attempted to organize the clutter on her desk, “is that politics is nothing like The West Wing.”

“No?”

“No. Nathan, what do we have scheduled today?” She asked.

“An interview with The Times later, but I’ve lined up some meetings with a few of your largest donors.”

“That’s my least favorite part of the job. Who am I meeting with?” Y/n set aside her organizing and leaned forward on her elbows.

Nathan pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and read off a few names from his clipboard. “We’ve got Mercy Otis Warren at two. Mr. and Mrs. Randolph for lunch—”

“Oh, I can’t stand them.”

“—and a Mr. de Lafayette in an hour.”

Y/n’s eyebrows shot up into her hairline and she was convinced she had heard him wrong. “Who was that last one?”

“Mr. de Lafayette, the French president’s son,” Nathan explained.

“Since when has he been a donor to my campaign?” Y/n frowned.

“He reached out a few months ago. I thought it was strange that a foreign leader’s kid wanted to donate to a U.S. representative’s campaign, but I wasn’t about to stop him.”

“I don’t want his donations,” Y/n said.

This caught Nathan’s attention. “Y/n, he made a very sizable donation to your reelection campaign.”

“I don’t care. I don’t want his money.”

“It’s too late. We’ve already spent the money on buttons and whatnot.”

“Nathan, no!” Y/n groaned. “And you said I’m supposed to meet with him today?”

“Yes, in an hour. I don’t understand what the problem is.”

Y/n pursed her lips and finally admitted, “We used to be best friends.”

“And you don’t want to see him because...?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Well regardless of the length of the story,” Nathan said, “we can’t cancel on him. We need every donation we can get since you refuse to accept money from any PACs.”

“That’s because it’s the right thing to do,” Y/n pointed out. 

“Maybe so, but that doesn’t make my job any easier. You’re not getting out of this meeting, Y/n. You should start mentally preparing yourself now.” 

It had been eight years since she had last seen Lafayette. Eight years. And yet, she wasn’t exactly in a rush to see him again. They hadn’t exactly left things on great terms. Now he was making sizable donations to her campaign? None of this made any sense to Y/n. 

An hour passed too quickly for Y/n’s liking. Nathan had arranged for a photo op between Y/n and Lafayette in the lobby of the hotel Lafayette was staying at. After all, the endorsement of a foreign dignitary would be good for her campaign, it would probably make the front page of local newspapers. On the ride over to the hotel, Y/n rehearsed how the meeting would go in her head.

She’d walk into the lobby and greet Lafayette politely. The photographers would capture a few pictures of them smiling amicably and shaking hands. Y/n would thank him for his support and his donations, inquire on the wellbeing of his mother, and then Nathan would pull her out and tell everyone she had another meeting she had to be at. Y/n would apologize, thank Lafayette again, and then they would part ways. And if she never saw him again after this, that would be fine. 

Maybe she should have let Nathan in on her plans, because he had different ideas of how this meeting would go down. 

“The Randolphs had to cancel on us, but I’ve pencilled them in for next weekend. That means we can take more time talking with Mr. de Lafayette,” he told her. 

“What? But I don’t want to spend more time talking with him. I just--”

“We can discuss it later,” Nathan cut her off and pushed her into the hotel lobby where half a dozen photographers and journalists were already waiting. The cameras began to flash.

“We have a lot to discuss later,” Y/n smiled for the cameras, but Nathan was the only one able to hear the poison underneath her words. She meant them. But chewing Nathan out was for later, right now she had an ex-best friend and current campaign donator to deal with. 

Standing to the side of the lobby was Lafayette. He was wearing gray slacks and formal shoes, but he had opted to ditch the suit jacket and wore his white button down with the sleeves rolled up, revealing his rather muscular fore arms. He grinned when he saw Y/n headed his way, and all of a sudden it was like she was a college student again. Memories of her year in Paris came back to her. Drinks at a local bar, watching romcoms together, attending rallies for his mom.

But bad memories returned to her as well, and they seemed to out weigh all the good ones she could remember. She had to focus not to let her smile falter in case a photographer took a photo of her looking anything less than happy to be seeing Lafayette. Journalists always had a way of spinning things. 

“Congresswoman L/n, I am so glad you could make it,” Lafayette said. There may have been some things Y/n had forgotten from her year abroad, but the sound of his voice wasn’t one of those things. 

“There’s no place I’d rather be,” Y/n lied through her smile. “How was your flight?” She stepped forward and offered her hand for him to shake. Cameras flashed. 

“Pleasant enough, I suppose.” He gripped her hand and gave it a firm shake. More cameras clicked. “It’s good to see you again. What has it been, eight years?”

They turned to face the cameras, letting the photographers take pictures of the smiling side-by-side. 

“Must be. It’s been too long, hasn’t it?” She was doing her best to be professional. 

He placed a hand on her back that could easily pass as just a friendly gesture between two professionals, but Y/n knew him better than that. Lafayette kept smiling, but he lowered his voice so only she could hear him. 

“I’ve tried getting in contact with you so many times, Y/n. We used to be best friends, remember? Although now you seem to be doing fine for yourself.”

Y/n continued smiling, but she spared Lafayette an uneasy glance. “I am doing fine, aren’t I?”

“I just don’t understand why the only way I can get you to talk to me is to make large donations to your campaign and schedule meetings with your campaign manager,” he said quietly. “What happened to us?”

“Lafayette, this isn’t the time or place to address that issue,” she said with perfectly masked annoyance. Y/n smiled for a couple more photos, then the journalists seemed to have gotten enough content of the two of them. “Besides, I think we both know perfectly well what happened.” 

The end of Y/n’s year abroad came quicker than she had anticipated. Paris had been fun, but if she was being honest, she was ready to return home. Molly and Lafayette had begun dating shortly after that night when he jumped the fence and broke his arm to impress her. After that, Y/n couldn’t help but feel like a third-wheel around the two of them. 

It wasn’t easy. Lafayette was still her best friend and she couldn’t avoid him as much as she wanted to without him asking questions. Since Lafayette decided to date Molly, and since Molly was Y/n’s roommate, seeing them around together was nearly unavoidable. 

Y/n had reached the end of her year abroad now, so... that was good? Molly had already left for the states a week and a half ago due to a family emergency or something. Y/n wasn’t completely sure, she had gotten good at tuning Molly out when she was talking about how great a boyfriend Lafayette was, that she must’ve started tuning out everything Molly said. 

With Molly gone, Y/n was left alone in an apartment and with her thoughts. She didn’t see Lafayette as much, as he really only came over to the apartment to visit Molly these days. Now that she was left with nothing to do except pack and think, she was finally hit with the unsettling reality that the real reason she didn’t like being around Molly and Lafayette when they were together wasn’t because they made her feel like a third wheel. 

She shoved those thoughts deep down her throat, worried what might become of her if she let herself dwell on them too much. When ignoring the thoughts didn’t work as well as she had hoped it would, she turned to an alternative medicine. The bar was an antidote for anything and everything. 

That’s where Lafayette found Y/n. Drinking by herself on a weeknight.

“What are you doing here? I’m supposed to be the drunk one that you find and drag home.”

She looked at him lazily over her third glass of wine. “One should always be drunk. That’s all that matters. But with what? With wine, with poetry, or with virtue, as you chose. But get drunk.”

“We’re quoting poetry, now?” He sighed. “You are more drunk than I thought.”

“I thought you would like it. Charles Baudelaire. He’s French. He said to get drunk, and wine tastes better than virtue.”

Lafayette took her glass of wine and drained it. Partially to prevent Y/n from drinking anymore, partially because he needed it. He looked at his best friend who was watching him with wide eyes and parted lips.

“What?” He asked.

“What,” she repeated, in a daze.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m okay. You’re the one getting drunk alone.”

She grinned sloppily. “I’m not alone. You’re here. And you’re getting drunk with me.”

Lafayette appraised Y/n for a moment. She was watching him so earnestly, her eyes bright and lively from the alcohol. He had to look away. Eventually he gave in and ordered another glass of wine for himself. Then, halfway through that glass, his lips loosened.

“Molly broke up with me.”

For a second, Lafayette could have sworn he saw a smile on Y/n’s face. But he must have imagined it, because when he looked again, she was giving him a pitiful look.

“She did? I’m so, so sorry. Did she say why?”

“No, but I think I know.”

“Care to share?”

He shook his head and took a long sip from his glass. “Not particularly. You care to share why you’re getting drunk alone in the middle of the week?”

“Not particularly.” She repeated his words and attempted a wink.

Then the two of them fell into a contemplative silence. There was no doubt that they were extremely close friends. But that didn’t mean they told each other everything, it just meant that they always knew how the other was feeling, even if they didn’t know why.

“We’ve got so much wasted potential, don’t we?” Lafayette finally said.

Y/n raised an eyebrow. “Wasted? I may be wasted tonight, but I’ll pull it together tomorrow.”

He groaned and hid his smile, not wanting her to know that he actually found her amusing. “Shut up, Y/n. You know what I mean.”

“Maybe you’re wasted potential. You could be a president or a CEO, but instead you’re drinking with your best friend at 10:48 p.m.,” she pointed out. “But I’ve got it all figured out. Tomorrow, I’ll pull myself together from this feeling-sorry-for-myself night. And when I go back to America, I’ll pull my life together again.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. Tonight is a microcosm of my time here in Paris. Paris was just a drunk mistake. A really fun, really delicious mistake. When I return to the U.S., it’ll be my Paris hang over. I’ll deal with the consequences, be miserable for a little while, but then I’ll be great. Maybe be president or meet a penguin, whichever is easier.”

“I hope Paris wasn’t all mistakes.”

“It was.”

It should have hurt more to hear her say that. They were both a few glasses in at this point and felt invincible. Everything would hurt a lot more in the morning, but they felt so good then. Lafayette spared another glance at Y/n. This was his best friend, the only girl he really cared about. The girl he had promised himself he wouldn’t ruin things with. But one look at her lips made him lose any inhibition he had left.

He stared a second too long. Y/n noticed his eyes on her lips, and as if she knew what he was thinking, her lips were pulled up into a troublesome smile. A voice in the back of Y/n’s head warned her that she could ruin their friendship if she didn’t stop, but then again, she had never wanted to be his friend. Never.

“Come home with me?” She knew what his answer would be before she had even asked the question.

His response should’ve been “I don’t think that’s a good idea” or “we’re both drunk, we should both go to our own homes.” Or anything else. Anything else would’ve been better than his easy grin, his warm hand in hers as they exited the bar, and his sharp whistle as he hailed a taxi.

She could count this, right?

Lafayette had never told her he loved her. As a friend, at the very least, Y/n was convinced that he loved her. She had watched Lafayette express his affections and love for so many women before her. Y/n would be lying if she said that she didn’t die a little bit every time she saw him with someone else. She had watched him say “I love you” to almost everyone but herself.

In the back of the cab, flooded with orange light from the street, Lafayette’s hands felt warm on her body. He tasted like cheap wine even though Y/n knew he could afford something more expensive. He tasted like smoke as well, even though Y/n told him often how bad cigarettes were. The way he looked at her, the way he kissed her, it said “I love you.” Didn’t it? 

 I can count this, she decided with his lips pressed against her neck.

He only took his lips off her to quickly pay the cab driver, and even then he kept one hand on her thigh. Walking up a narrow flight of stairs is harder when you’re drunk and don’t want to let go of another person, but Lafayette and Y/n managed to do it. They stumbled into her apartment, not bothering to turn on any lights. 

The next morning Y/n’s apartment would look like a crime scene; furniture out of place, clothes littering the floor, but she didn’t care at the moment. Any consequences for tonight’s actions would be her problem tomorrow. Tonight, all she could think about was the way he pushed her up against the wall and left bruises on her shoulders with his mouth. 

By the time they made it to her bedroom, she had managed to remove all his clothes and he was taking off her panties with two fingers. Lafayette whispered something sweet in her ear, but Y/n really wasn’t listening at this point. He wrapped an arm around her waist and laid her back on the bed, placing a desperate kiss on her lips. Something in her knew that he wasn’t kissing her because he felt something, but because he wanted to feel something. Did it work?

Y/n would not know all the details of what happened the next day. All she would remember was the feel of his skin against hers, the taste of him on her tongue, and feeling more alive than she had ever felt before.

Drunken mistakes were something Lafayette was used to. Y/n had her fair share of drunken mistakes as well. Nothing compared to the moment Lafayette woke up next to Y/n in her bed with a terrible headache from the night before. He could feel nothing but dread and it was beginning to eat him alive.

“Mon dieu, what have I done?” The fact that he had really fucked up this time hit him like a train. 

“I know,” Y/n replied. She didn’t share his same level of concern. “How much did we drink last night?”

“I need to go.” 

Before she knew it, Lafayette was out of bed and pulling on articles of his clothing that were strewn across the room. Y/n was perplexed by his urgency and propped herself up on her elbows. 

“Lafayette, relax. We were drunk, okay? It’s not a big deal.”

He shook his head. “No, you don’t understand.”

“What don’t I understand.”

“This shouldn’t have happened. I never wanted this to happen.”

Y/n didn’t even mask her pain, but Lafayette wouldn’t even look at her. Still, she tried to reassure him. “You hook-up with girls all the time. This isn’t that much different.”

“No, it is,” he said firmly. “You’re not just another girl, Y/n. We’re friends. I never wanted this to happen between us.”

Just like that, Y/n felt her heart plummet in her chest. Did he really regret sleeping with her that much? He couldn’t even fathom the idea of them together without panicking? Y/n’s mouth hung open but no words came out. What would you even say in a situation like this?

“I need to leave now.” He still couldn’t look her in the eye. Lafayette left her apartment without so much as another word to her.

That’s how Lafayette broke her heart.

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