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reilemon · 10 days ago

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♥︎Amore Immortale♥︎ Ch. 1

♡︎ synopsis: A simple foraging trip takes an unexpected turn when you wake up in a mansion hidden deep in the forest. Now four captivating men are nursing you back to health, but their intentions—and identities—are a mystery.

♡︎ pairing: vampire!Xavier, vampire!Zayne, vampire!Rafayel, vampire!Sylus x fem!reader (separately and together)

♡︎ cw: depictions of head injury and fever

♡︎ tags: vampire au, slow burn (-ish), eventual romance, eventual smut, eventual polyamory

♡︎ word count: 4.3k

♡︎ a/n: the first chapter of the sixth and final story for kinktober 2024. I wanted to finish off kinktober with a gang bang, but I got carried away and now this is going to be a multi chapter story. I hope you'll like this one.

♡︎ Thanks to my dearest friend and beta reader ♡︎@its-de♡︎ for helping.

divider by @cafekitsune

"Poor little bunny." The blue eyed man coos as he find the source of the sudden loud noise - you. The clumsy human probably slipped and fell when the sky opened and heavy rainfall started. He carefully scoops you in his arms, with your head resting on his shoulder.

A small whine barely hits his ears and he catches the moment you briefly gain consciousness. He softly chuckles when he hears your silly question before passing out again. He ignores how a little of your blood is mixing with the rain on the fabric of his coat and starts walking away.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Your eyes flutter open, heavy and bleary. You adjust slowly to the dimness around you, the fireplace in front of your bed the only source of light. The ceiling looms high - a ceiling you don’t recognize. The walls are covered in wallpaper, worn and peeling in places. You don’t recognize that wallpaper either. The royal purple catches the dim firelight, a color you could never possibly afford.

You shift against the bed beneath you, the silk sheets cool and smooth against your skin. Over you is a heavy wool blanket, its weight like a comforting presence. A low groan escapes your lips as you rise and rest on your elbow. The room is beautiful, with expensive furniture, but there is this dormant energy to it.

You glance at the thick velvet curtains covering the window. The sliver peeking in the corner shows you a glimpse of the outside world. It’s nighttime, the downpour relentless, drops thrumming against the glass.

‘The rain!’

You sit up abruptly, a sharp pang of pain zapping through your skull, making you wince and press your fingers to your temple. Your fingers try to rub the pain away as you lean on your other arm to rest. Right, the rain. After closing up the bookstore, you've gone to the forest to search for some mushrooms and sweet chestnuts. A hearty dinner and sweet dessert would be a great start of your two week long vacation. The last visitor commented how their elbow hurt which meant a thunderstorm is coming. You politely smiled and packed up their books. You should've listened to their elbow.

Now, staring around this unfamiliar room, unease twists in your stomach.

‘Where the hell am I?’

Right on cue, the door creaks open, and a tall, raven haired man steps into the room. He pauses in the doorway as his eyes meet yours.

“Hello,” he says, his voice smooth and deep. “How are you feeling?”

You swallow, his presence suddenly making you aware of the mess you must look. Embarrassment prickles your skin, and you rub your temple, trying to compose yourself, only to see his brows knit with concern.

“Um, I’ve been better,” you manage, forcing a chuckle. The grogginess in your voice doesn’t help the embarrassment. You smooth a hand over the blanket, feeling a little exposed. “Why am I here?”

“My friend found you,” he explains, “Out in the forest, just before the storm. You most likely slipped on the mud and hit your head.”

He nods towards your forehead, then reaches for a small, gold hand-mirror resting on the bedside table. The antique metal glints softly as he holds it, and you take it with a hesitant hand. As you lift it to inspect your reflection, you catch a small bruise just above your brow, the skin tender and slightly swollen. Considering the circumstances, you think, it could’ve been much worse.

The man, whose name you still haven’t learned, clears his throat. “I was the one who changed you into dry clothes,” he shifts in his seat, averting his gaze briefly before meeting your eyes again. “For that, I apologize. I wouldn’t have done it if there were any other choice.”

You shake your head with a small, reassuring smile. “It’s fine, really. If you hadn’t, I’d probably be shivering with pneumonia right now.”

His expression softens with relief. “I’m glad you understand. I would still like to listen to your lungs, Would you be comfortable with me examining you?” then he adds, “I’ve been in the medical field for quite some time, I assure you.”

Something about his demeanor, calm and controlled, makes him look trustworthy. And considering how thoroughly he must have tended to you—removing every speck of mud, leaving you dry and warm in a comfortable bed—it’s clear he has your wellbeing in mind. You nod. “Of course.”

He gives a curt nod and shifts closer to the bed. “You don’t need to do much, just sit as comfortably as you can,” he murmurs, the calm, low timbre of his voice steadies you. The shirt you wear—a loose button-up clearly meant for a man—hangs loosely over your shoulders, open at the collar. Suddenly, you feel the pulse of your own heartbeat, wondering if he might hear it already. His hand moves lightly over the fabric, as he leans closer, and then he places his ear gently against your chest, just above your heart.

The moment feels both entirely professional and so intimate. You tell yourself that this is completely normal, this is the usual routine. But he is not your doctor, and you can’t shun the butterflies you feel from having a handsome stranger resting his head on your chest. His hair, thick and dark, grazes your collarbone as he listens, his breath warm against your skin. Your heartbeat, which you’re certain must be thudding wildly beneath his ear, betrays you, a deep flush creeping up your cheeks as you try to steady yourself.

“Breathe in deeply for me,” his voice a soft murmur, his cheek brushing against you.

You comply, feeling his presence with every rise and fall of your chest. When he shifts, his head moves closer to your collarbone, the tickling brush of his hair sending a wave of goosebumps along your chest. You’re conscious of every small movement, every slight intake of his breath.

He shifts back a little, his hand grazing your shoulder as he adjusts to press his ear against your back. “One more time,” his tone is still composed, though you’re unsure if you catch a hint of restraint.

You breathe in, slowly, deeply, feeling the warmth of his palm on your shoulder. He holds still for a moment longer, listening intently. Then, he slowly pulls back, settling into his seat with a neutral expression.

“You do have a small fever,” he calmly states. “Although, there are no signs of anything serious.” He offers a faint, almost apologetic smile. “You should lie back down and rest.”

Your cheeks are warm, and not just from the fever. You nod and do as you’re told, sinking under the comforting weight of the blanket. The man briefly explains that you were unconscious for around two hours, and that your clothes are being washed.

You nod again, processing the details. “Thank you… that’s all very considerate of you.”

He offers you a faint smile. “It’s the least we could do.”

He rises from his seat and steps toward the door, his hand resting on the brass knob. “I need to check on my friend in the kitchen. There may be a fire to manage. And I’ll bring you some herbal tea.”

You chuckle. “Well, thank you, Dr…?”

A flicker of amusement lights his eyes as he opens the door, pausing for a moment. “Just call me Zayne.”

You tell him your name in return, and with that, he’s gone with the soft click of the door.

After Zayne leaves, the room slips into an almost eerie quiet. You prop yourself up against the plush pillows, trying to get comfortable despite the persistent ache in your muscles and the dull throb in your head. The room feels larger now that you’re alone. Every detail catches your attention—the thick velvet drapes, the intricate patterns on the worn wallpaper, the faint smell of stale air. You’d get up to investigate the room or try to figure out more about where exactly you are, but your body protests with every small movement. So you have to settle for gazing around the space instead, picking out details you hadn’t noticed before. The furniture is old but well-kept, the kind that belongs in a property far grander than any home you’ve ever been in. This place—it’s not like the humble cottages back in your village. No, this is different. Larger. More isolated. Somewhere far from the familiar streets you walk every day.

A shiver crawls down your spine at the thought of how far away you could be from your home. You’ve never ventured beyond the edge of the forest. You’ve heard stories about the other side. It was always whispered between older folk who’d lived through enough strange events to keep their superstitions alive. Vampires, werewolves, creatures of the night. They’d mention them, always in passing, as though acknowledging them would draw something out of the shadows.

At first, you’d dismissed it. What else could it be but old folklore? Some scary tales to spice up their lives, stories passed down from generation to generation. Something for them to talk about when the nights grew long and dark, to keep the children from misbehaving. Those creatures don’t exist. You were certain of that.

Or, at least, you had been.

You replay the events in your mind, trying to make sense of it all. Zayne said that his friend found you unconscious in the woods. They’d brought you here, tended to your injuries, and kept you warm. His behavior had been nothing but kind, gentlemanly even.

But then, why does your skin prickle as you think of him?

What if he is one of them? The pale complexion, the unnerving quiet, the way he’d moved with such elegant grace. And those eyes... there was something about the way he looked at you. Your pulse quickens. You try to reason with yourself—if this man, Zayne, were a vampire, wouldn’t he have done something by now? You were unconscious and vulnerable. He could have easily taken advantage of that moment, but he hadn’t. He’d taken care of you.

But what if... what if this is all part of some darker plan? You swallow hard, trying to silence the growing paranoia. What if they want to keep you here? What if, right now, they’re simply playing a long game, to coax you to be their little blood doll—

‘Stop.’ You force yourself to take a deep breath, trying to calm your spiraling thoughts. There’s no proof, no reason to believe that Zayne—or anyone else—is anything other than a human.

You glance toward the window. Your body feels like lead at the moment, but tomorrow you will probably be well enough to leave. The storm can’t go on forever.

A sharp knock on the door pulls you from your thoughts.

"Come in," you manage, your voice wavering just a little.

Zayne steps in, balancing a tray of a delicate ceramic tea set. The gentle clink of porcelain against porcelain brings comfort to your senses. Behind him, another figure slips into the room—a man with handsome, soft features. His tousled, blonde-gray hair looks like it would be soft to the touch. And his eyes, though shadowed by the dim lighting, have a dreamy quality, like someone lost in thought.

A faint smell of something burnt drifts into the room, cutting through the soothing scent of the herbal tea. You can’t help but frown a bit at the scent, but neither man acknowledges it. Zayne places the tray on the small bedside table, the teapot steaming. The air feels warmer now, not just from the tea.

The second man steps forward, offering you a polite nod, “Hello.” he says, his voice silky and mellow. “I’m Xavier, the one who found you.”

His soft smile makes your heart stir. It takes you a beat to find your voice to introduce yourself.

“Thank you… for, well, rescuing me,” you say with a shy smile.

Xavier gives a gentle shake of his head, his smile widening. “Why were you so deep into the forest with a storm on the way?” he asks, his tone feels almost like teasing.

You chuckle nervously as you feel the faintest flush of embarrassment creep up your cheeks. “I – Well, I wanted to gather some things for dinner,” you admit. “It’s my first real break from work, and I may have gotten a little too excited.”

His gaze lingers on you for a moment, as if he’s trying to fully take you in.

“You’re lucky he was done fishing at the time.” Zayne adds as he hands you a cup of tea. His fingers brush lightly against yours as you accept it, deepening the flush on your cheeks. You are lucky to be here. Even though you’re sitting in a room with two men who are strangers, they still have cared for you with such tenderness. You could feel their warmth in every gesture, in every word. It’s hard to hold onto fear when faced with such care. Even now, you can feel yourself relaxing, the tension in your shoulders unwinding.

You take a sip of tea slowly, trying to mask the strange tide of emotions flooding through you. You had been so afraid, so convinced of something dark lurking beneath the surface. But now, in this quiet moment, with the warm tea in your hands and their watchful eyes on you, you feel strangely safe.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

The clock on the mantel ticks softly, the brass hands showing it’s almost 1 a.m. The fire burns low, casting a warm, flickering glow over the room. Your eyelids feel heavy now, the weight of exhaustion settling deep in your bones. You turn onto your side, pulling the duvet tighter, forming a cocoon around you. The warmth, the softness—everything lulls you closer to sleep. But your mind drifts, recalling the conversation with Xavier after he’d brought you dinner.

He’d placed the bed tray gently over your lap, making sure everything was within reach. Before he turned to leave, the sound of your voice stopped him.

“Did you manage to catch anything?” you asked, your voice quiet but curious.

Xavier had looked confused for a moment, then his face lit up with a soft smile. “I did. Fried a few, but Zayne didn’t let me serve it to you.” He chuckled. “Said he didn’t want you choking on a bone.”

You laughed too, the sound easing the leftover tension you’ve been holding. That explained the faint burnt smell that had lingered earlier, and why Zayne had to rush to the kitchen.

“And don’t worry,” he added. “I brought back your basket too. Everything’s intact.”

You were about to thank him, but then an image flashed in your mind—a fleeting memory of him, his hair wet and clinging to his face. The moment felt so vivid, so real, that it stopped you mid-thought. You stared at him, squinting slightly.

“What’s wrong?” His voice softened with concern, his brows furrowing.

You shook your head quickly, flustered for being caught staring. “Nothing… it’s just—did I say something to you? When you found me?”

Xavier hesitated, his lips twitching as though trying to suppress a grin. He glanced to the side, his hand coming up to cover his mouth, but his eyes gave him away. “Oh no…” you said, feeling the heat rising in your cheeks. “Was it something embarrassing?”

“No,” he replied, though the gleam in his eye said otherwise. “It was cute.” He paused, then looked back to you, “You opened your eyes for a moment, and asked me, ‘Are you my prince?’ Then you passed out again.”

Your heart practically leapt into your throat, your face instantly flushing. “Oh, that’s definitely embarrassing,” you groaned.

Xavier laughed then, his voice soothing. “Don’t worry, I’ve been called worse.”

And just as you wished for the shadows to come alive and swallow you, Zayne entered, saving you from further humiliation. He brought you a bowl filled with ice and a cloth. You thanked both of them, adding that you planned to leave in the morning.

Their faces changed for a heartbeat when you said that, though you didn’t miss it. It wasn’t worry exactly, more like hesitation, as though they weren’t entirely convinced you would be gone by morning. Or perhaps… that they didn’t want you to be.

That thought lingered now, swirling in your mind as your body sank deeper into the mattress. Their kindness, their calmness—they made you feel safe, soothed the fears that had gripped you earlier. Yet, there was something unspoken between the three of you.

A sigh escapes your lips. You can feel sleep creeping over you, warm and heavy, pulling you under. The memory of Xavier’s reassuring smile and Zayne’s attentive gaze lingers in your mind, their faces blurring at the edges as your thoughts dissolve into a haze.

They are both so kind. And so handsome.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

A low whine escapes your lips before you even open your eyes. The ache in your body is heavy and relentless. Every muscle protests as you shift, but you force your eyelids open. The room is warm, the fire crackling faintly in the hearth. Someone must’ve light it while you were still asleep.

‘I said I’d leave in the morning.’ You glance over at the clock—it’s 11 a.m. That’s not really morning, but it is time for you to leave. If only you felt better.

You wince as you slowly, painfully, push yourself out of bed. Your legs feel weak, your body sluggish, like you’re moving through water. Every movement sends a wave of soreness through your bones, but you grit your teeth and push through. You don’t want to linger here any longer than you have to.

Grumbling under your breath, you stagger toward the door, your feet barely shuffling across the hardwood. You’re still dressed in the warm clothes Zayne gave you, though they feel a little too big now. You’ll just ask for your things and be on your way. You’ll return their clothes once you fully recover.

Goosebumps spread all over your skin as you open the door, the chill air of the hallway shocking your senses. It is completely quiet, only the soft creak of the floorboards under your slippers breaking the silence. More doors sit along the hallway, likely bedrooms as well. You glance at them briefly, but you step towards the staircase ahead. The polished mahogany wood gleams faintly, and you internally groan at the thought of making it down the steps in your current state.

You’re about to take your first step when—

“Hey!”

The voice comes out of nowhere, stopping you in your tracks. You freeze, your heart jumping in your chest as footsteps echo from above, growing louder as they approach. Turning, you find yourself face-to-face with a man descending the stairs. He’s tall and moves with an almost feline grace. His hair is gorgeous - messy curls of muted violet and his eyes, an unusual blend of blue and pink, are sharp and full of curiosity. His plump lips are pulled in an amused smirk.

“Where do you think you’re going?” His voice is teasing, though there’s a touch of disapproval in it. His arms cross over his chest, as he takes in your disheveled state.

You blink at him, still trying to shake off the fog in your head. “I - I need to leave.”

He narrows his eyes, looking you up and down. “You should stay in bed,” he says firmly, stepping closer. “You look like you’re about to collapse.”

He is right, you do feel like you’re about to collapse, yet you can’t help but notice how striking he is. His hair, his eyes, even the way he moves—it’s all captivating. But you force those thoughts away, shaking your head slightly. “I’m sorry, who are you?”

He uncrosses his arms, offering a small smile that’s both charming and a little smug. “Oh, right. I’m Rafayel.” His voice dips slightly, your name falling from his lips. “I’m staying here too. Zayne told me what happened.”

You blink again, taken aback by how easily he says your name. You hadn’t expected to meet another guest in the house. “Rafayel,” you repeat.

He nods, brushing a hand through his unruly curls. “Yeah. I took care of your clothes. They’re drying in my room,” he adds. “It’s still raining, though, so they might take a while.”

At his words, you pause and listen. Sure enough, you hear the soft, steady patter of rain against the windows. You’d been so focused on leaving that you hadn’t even thought to check the weather. ‘Of course it’s still raining.’ You sigh inwardly, frustration and weariness settling in your chest.

“What about Zayne and Xavier?” you ask, hoping to at least get some help from them.

Rafayel smirks, shaking his head. “They’re sleeping.”

You frown. “Sleeping?”

“Yup,” he says with a shrug, almost dismissive.

Your mind races. You know why you are up so late, but why are they still sleeping. Your mind is about to wander to that corner again, but you stop yourself. ‘They must’ve been exhausted from taking care of an injured stranger.’

Still, the unease lingers. Rafayel’s gaze flickers over you, his eyes softening slightly as if sensing your discomfort. “Look,” he says, his voice gentler now, “you really don’t look like you’re in any shape to leave. Why don’t you rest a bit longer?”

You hesitate, your body aching with every breath, the fatigue weighing you down with each second. He’s right. You’re not ready to leave yet.

Rafayel’s eyes hold yours for a moment. “You’re safe here,” he adds softly.

Just as Rafayel is about to steer you back toward the bedroom, another voice cuts through the air, deep and teasing, with a velvety edge that sends a shiver down your spine.

“Is that the lost kitten?”

You look down the stairs, and there he is. The man who appears next makes the very air around you seem heavier. He’s taller than the other men, with strikingly sharp features. His white hair is tousled yet elegant, and his eyes - a deep, mesmerizing wine-red, lock onto yours with an intensity that makes your stomach flutter.

Before you can even react, the man is standing right in front of you, his height towering over you. You can’t help but gawk, unable to stop yourself from tracing every detail of his sharp jawline, the way his lower lip looks so plump and soft.

Rafayel’s voice, sharp with annoyance, snaps you out of the trance. “You know her name, Sylus.”

But Sylus just smirks. He takes your hand, his fingers long and strong, enveloping yours completely. Your breath catches in your throat as the warmth from his touch sends heat rippling through your body. His hand is so much larger than yours, making you feel almost fragile in his grip.

“My name is Sylus. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Your name drips from his lips, and he bends forward and presses a tender kiss to the back of your hand. The sensation of his cool lips against your flushed skin sends tingles across your arm. You can’t help but blush under the attention.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Rafayel roll his eyes, an exasperated sigh leaving his lips. “You’re shameless.” he mutters, though there’s a playful lilt to his voice.

Sylus simply laughs, a low, rich sound, before releasing your hand. With a light touch on your back, Rafayel guides you back toward the bedroom, his hand steady and firm against you. Sylus trails behind, watching with an amused expression.

When you’re back in the bedroom, Rafayel’s hands gently but insistently push you down by the shoulders, guiding you to sit back on the edge of the bed. “Seriously,” you protest, exasperated, “I feel better already! I don’t want to be a burden.”

Sylus leans lazily against the doorframe, his arms crossed, a smirk dancing on his lips as he watches the scene unfold. "You look much too cute to be any kind of burden, kitten," he says, his eyes fixed on you.

Before you can say anything else, Rafayel presses you back into the blankets, his firm but gentle insistence impossible to resist. As you sink back into the bed, Sylus pushes off from the door and approaches with an almost predatory grace. The teasing glint in his eyes fades slightly as he crouches beside the bed, his expression softening as his hand reaches out to press against your forehead. His touch is cool—no wonder, since the rest of the mansion is freezing—and the sensation sends a refreshing chill through your heated skin.

“You still have a fever.” he murmurs, his thumb brushing lightly against your temple.

Rafayel shakes his head, giving you a disapproving look. “See? You’re in no condition to leave. I’ll prepare you tea and breakfast.”

Your protests die on your lips as Sylus pulls away, his touch lingering on your skin. Both men turn around and leave before you can say anything else.

The door shuts softly behind them, leaving you alone once again. You sink deeper into the bed, your body heavy with exhaustion. Your thoughts swirl, still caught in the lingering effect of their presence. You turn on your side, facing the window, staring at the thick velvet curtains that block out the view of raindrops racing down the tall windows. As much as you want to leave, as much as you should leave, you know your body isn’t ready. The fever might not be severe, but it’s enough to weaken you. Slipping away now—especially into the woods with no clear path—feels like a death wish.

A heavy sigh escapes your lips. For now, the best option is to rest and regain your strength. You can’t deny how safe their presence makes you feel, even if you don’t fully understand why. Something about them pulls you in, something more than just their looks.

You close your eyes, letting the exhaustion pull you under.

#love and deepspace #kinktober #kinktober 2024 #zayne love and deepspace #xavier love and deepspace #rafayel love and deepspace #sylus love and deepspace #xavier smut #zayne smut #sylus smut #rafayel smut #love and deepspace smut #lads smut #sylus x reader #xavier x reader #zayne x reader #rafayel x reader

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snazzydwarf · 1 year ago

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Jasons pit madness is actually him going mama bear mode-

I was brushing my teeth when this DC x DP idea just zapped into my brain and I HAD to let it out-

So I'd imagine that in the GZ time works differently, but in the sense where it passes really really slow compared to how it would normally pass. This is to allow newly formed spirits a time to grieve and heal before saying good bye to their loved ones.

So now imagine a newly formed Jason Todd arriving to the Ghost Zone, still donned with the Robin outfit he died in.

While he floats aimlessly around for a while he eventually encounters another young ghost... like really young, no more then 5 years old.

He watched as this kid, his kid, grow into the powerful ghost he was always meant to be. His favourite moments where when Clockwork allowed them to visit outside the GZ to go stargazing so they could fulfil the kids space obsession.

This ghost is Danny. (You can choose your own way of him getting there but I would imagine the portal being completed way earlier than cannon but still follows how Danny got his powers, although this time he was trapped on the other side of the portal rather than popping back out into this parents basement.)

Years pass in the GZ and Jason has officially taken Danny under his wing. At first it was difficult, he was only 15 goddammit! He shouldn’t be the soul caretaker of this kid, let alone a dead one! But the thought of leaving Danny alone in this green void made his stomach churn, he couldn’t up and leave and abandon a kid he said he would take care off, he would do anything for Danny. He wasn’t like Bruce

They were fine, happy even, he couldn’t imagine a life without this little tyke who became his whole world in the time he was in the Zone, but then it was all gone. His core felt a sudden pull so tight it felt like it was being ripped out of his body, it hurt, oh god did it hurt but it couldn’t compare to the sound of Danny’s cries as he watched Jason crumple to the ground and begin to fade away.

He stalked through Gotham at night and began setting up his plan for revenge, although Red Hood was born he couldn’t help feel like he lost something. The slightest thing would tip him of, making him go into a blind fury, ripping his enemies apart in an almost frantic desperation. He knew he was searching for something, fucking something, but what is it?

He was back in the land of the living, and he was furious, but he didn’t know what for. His memories where fuzzy at best and the only thing he remembers is a sharpness in his chest and green in his vision.

At first he thought it was the desire for revenge, that he was searching for retribution against the man who killed him and the man who didn’t do enough to save him, but it wasn’t until almost a year after he took up the Red Hood mantel did it all click into place and his world suddenly became right again, all it took was one voice and one word.

“DAD!”

#dc x dp #dp x dc #jason todd #danny fenton #writing idea #jason just wants his kid back and he's willing to do anything to do it #nightwing would be like omg little wing got a little wing!#danny doesn't have a great time when he was alone #dpxdc #dcxdp #SnazzysPrompts

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captainmalewriter · 9 days ago

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Streamer Gifts

Enzo was relatively new to the streaming gig. When he first started streaming, he didn’t really think anyone would tune in to watch him play video games. However, as he continued streaming, his following slowly grew over time. Before Enzo knew it, he had built up a small online community who enjoyed watching his live reactions and witty sense of humor. He had grown to love live streaming and couldn’t imagine life without it anymore.

One day, while Enzo was playing the latest indie horror game on live stream, he noticed his viewers suddenly shot up from 74 to 511 within minutes.

“Woah! Welcome everyone,” Enzo chuckled as he paused the game to look directly into his face camera. “Happy to have y’all here! I stream every other day and we just laugh and play games here. If you like the vibe, be sure to drop a follow and join our little family!”

After he gave his usual little spiel, Enzo continued playing. As the live stream continued, a few of Enzo’s new followers began dropping digital coins for him. Digital coins basically functioned as a tip jar. They were a way for people to support their favorite streamers. Enzo couldn’t help but smile every time his bell went off whenever someone dropped him a few coins. Coins were never expected but always appreciated.

“Thank you so much for the coins guys, I really appreciate y’all!”

The coins trickled in slowly at first. After enough coins had been gifted, Enzo found himself physically reacting to them for some reason. A sudden warmth began spreading around his extremities.

Unngh…

Enzo let out a slight moan as he beat the next level. His face quickly contorted into a confused expression. He had no idea where such a genuine moan came from but decided to just ignore it and keep playing. Meanwhile, his new followers began sending him more and more coins. He had a steady flow of gifts coming in now. It got to the point where he had to turn off the bell notification because it was going off constantly.

But aside from that, Enzo grew increasingly flustered with every gift. He tried suppressing his sensual groans, but they practically forced themselves out of his mouth.

Ughhh… fuck!!

Enzo paused the game. He had no idea what was going on with his body. He was warm everywhere, and he felt an inexplicable pressure building up inside of him. Enzo held his aching bicep with one hand while the other pawed at his growing junk— all while still live on camera with an audience.

Ohhh…! Mmmm…

One of his followers dropped another 100 coins, which zapped Enzo with another electric shock full of sensual pleasure.

Awwwgh!!

Enzo realized what was going on. The coins his new followers were sending weren’t just any ordinary coins. There was something wrong with them, like they were cursed or something. Enzo had somehow become biometrically connected to the fake streaming currency for some unknown reason. Whenever someone gifted him one of those bad coins, his body would physically react by moaning. Enzo had no idea how to stop it, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted it to stop. He had become hooked on the intense bodily feelings the bad coins were giving him. His skin had become hypersensitive. With every touch, Enzo felt a new jolt of sensual pleasure shoot throughout his body. It felt good… And it left him craving more. He couldn’t contain himself. He needed more.

In an attempt to garner more coins from his followers, Enzo began leaning into it. He turned off the silly horror video game altogether and instead began rubbing himself down in front of his camera. His followers loved it! A surge of bad coins came pouring in. The sudden wave of erotic pleasure was more than Enzo could take. He fell back against his gaming chair with his eyes rolled back until they were clear white.

Aghhhh!! Ohhhhh FUCKK!!! Nrgghhhh awwww…

His muscles were straining and swelling from all the electric stimulation. They grew bigger and bigger until Enzo’s clothes could no longer contain them. Enzo stretched and flexed his biceps as his shoulder span grew wider and wider, causing the fabric of his sleeves to burst right off. Enzo preferred to keep his pits clean and shaved, but the sudden electric pulses stimulated his hair growth. Within two minutes, his pit hair grew back in without a problem. By the end of it, Enzo had gone from being an ordinary video game streamer with an average build to a hairy jock with a ruggedly handsome face and impressive biceps too.

“Aaaaghhhh FUCK! Whewww that feels so much better!!” Enzo shouted as he stretched out his new muscular body.

Enzo made a show of himself flexing his guns on camera. His hundreds of fans were poured in with plenty of comments thirsting over his new body. Enzo chuckled as he read a few comments of people describing how they’d worship his arms and hairy pits in incredibly vulgar detail.

“Thanks so much for all the love y’all, I’m glad y’all like what you see here! Be sure to drop a follow, and I’ll see y’all in the next stream! Who knows, maybe I’ll wear something… A little special, just as my gift to all of you.”

He winked while pulling on his shirt, giving his adoring fans a cute little nipple slip, then closed out the live stream.

Meanwhile, all of Enzo’s strange, new fans were busy discussing whose livestream to take over next. Once they decided, they all hopped on at the same time and began gifting him coins. That streamer was overjoyed to see his livestream finally blowing up. However, as more and more coins came in, he found himself feeling… Bigger, stronger, and good all over his aching body.

#male transformation #male tf #permanent change #muscle tf #tf by tech

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silkythewriter · 9 months ago

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Hello! New anon here, um, so we have the headcanons for Vox x extravert reader. But what are your headcanons for Vox x introvert reader?

Got me curious :3

Vox x introvert reader!

Warnings!: Non!

Fandom!:Hazbin hotel!

Author note!: AH I WAS WAITING FOR SOMETHING LIKE THIS (≧▽≦) TYSM FOR REQUESTING THIS! Hazbin hotel has my mind running and my hyperfixation on this show is actually wild. IM SO GREATFUL FOR ALL THE REQUESTS TRUELY

Summary!: Vox with a introverted reader!

❤️Written by silkythewriter Do not steal or repost on any other platform please! <3❤️

꧁𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹꧂

★📺✨!Vox!✨📺★

First things first, he always makes sure the paparazzi’s back off. Being with one of the more popular and powerful overloads is definitely going to come with some press!. But don’t worry you’ll little head off he can always just zap the equipment or threaten them.

As the show shows us he’s one little show off! But as much as he’d love to show what’s his and who’s he’s with he’d keep it private if your uncomfortable with the sudden spot light.

Depending on your personality behind closed doors, like if your more on the calmer side, or on the but more ecstatic side, it will determine what he prefers to do with you!

If your on the calmer he’d love to wind down in your arms and just lay for a bit! Maybe put on the latest news. Or show you the good press he’s getting for his latest invention. He likes having someone to listen like actually listen as much as he likes having power and using it to scare people. It does effect his daily conversation with people since they want to get one his bad side, so he adores the calm conversations with you! Even if your more a listener then a talker.

Now if you were more on the hyper side behind closed doors, he’s gonna be so confused. Where was all this energy when you guys were in the building?! ヘ（° □°）ヘ!!

Once you explain your a bit more introverted in-front of people you don’t know. Which he has to admit he gets it to a degree.

Most of the time he handles any social interaction and takes the lead if someone approaches you not that he’s jelly of them or anything! Yk that meme where it’s like

“They said no pickles” that’s quite literally you and him

Sometimes holds your hand or links pinky’s with you if your ever feeling a bit overwhelmed by all the workers in the building, or the camera shoved into your face. He hates seeing so stress so he dose his best to figure something out, which he always does!

If your not a busy demon like him and are just with him for most of the day which he will admit in secret he absolutely loves he has your own little space in the three Vs building for you to chill out and not get interrupted. He filled it with whatever you said you’d like, even stuff you didn’t tell him… weird…(💧゜^゜)

Sometimes teases you, just because he doesn’t like seeing you upset doesn’t mean he’s gonna let you get away that easy!

Like one time him you and the two other Vs were ordering over phone and rang up the place. Before handing you the phone hurriedly as they picked up making you stammer and stumble over your words from surprise. He cracked up over this, now your always alert when he has a phone around you…

He’s devious, sometimes he makes you go up and ask for straws or something you always end up getting a bit freaked out only for him to laugh as he calls the waiter himself and does it. Yea he’s foul.. -_-

On the brighter note! He always with you in a second if your having trouble with a person and are to nervous to speak up. He dosent mind doin it for you!

Makes you steer clear of the other Val and velvet, their chatter boxes, also he just prefers you to not have to talk to them.

Sometimes he basks in the pure knowledge that your more comfortable with him then others

Overall! He does tease!, he loves the expressions you make!, but in all honesty even with his personality and attuned he’s a sweetheart! Does whatever makes you uncomfortable for you!, he’s a gentleman after all.

꧁𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹꧂

AHHHH TYSM FOR REQUESTING!!! I LOVED WRITING THIS AND I LOVE SEEING WHAT I CNA DO WITH CONTRASTING HEADCANONS LIKE THESE I HOPE YOU LIKE IT! ☆ ～('▽^人)

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flamingpudding · 1 year ago

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I am keeping him B

A/N: Stress late night writing, while I am supposed to sleep cause I still got work tomorrow but screw my life...

It all started with the disappearance of Box Ghost, followed by Spectra. Back then, Danny didn't realize what was happening, and he still blamed himself for that. What a fine bridge of balance he was....

The next to disappear had been Elli and Danny had mobilize whatever he could to organize a search party when he lost contact. After Elli, Ember was next. Maybe by then Danny should be realized.

Dan was the next in line of disappearances. Vlad was the one making Danny aware of it. Everything Danny had mobilized in his search for Elli was extended to find Dan now, too.

Shortly after Dan, Vlad also disappeared from the face of earth. If he hadn't already be worried Danny would have been now. His events tripled, sleepless nights followed, days in which Jazz practically had to force him to sleep.

One by one all the Ghosts Danny knew disappeared. Maybe he would have realized it sooner if he had paid more attention to certain things, to the news to politics, to anything really. Maybe then Danny would be noticed the appearance of Dalv.Co and his parents invention on the black market. The sudden spike in Meta traficing following or the sudden interest in Ecto-entities.

But he hadn't...

...and that probably what was what costed him too.

Because, one day, he woke up in a dark cell, still in his Phantom transformation but with a collar around his neck. It zapped him any time he touched it or tried to let go of his ghost form. It was like a reverse of the stupid taser Vlad had. There were no mirrors or anything he could use to see himself with, but he had a feeling that collar used Fenton tech. He also realized that he was in a more eldrich kind of transformation. His hands that usually were in white gloves when in phantom form were clawed and inky black with sparks that reminded Danny of the night sky's above Amity Park. He couldn't tell if he looked anything like himself or not, but judging by his hands, probably not.

That day, when Danny woke up in that cell, he realized the reason behind the disappearances of his family and ghost rogues. Just like there was a spike in Meta trafficking, the growing interest had also developed into Ecto-Entity trafficking and worse was, they weren't even protected by law. The Anti-Ecto Acts are making it not even a real or all too big of a crime.

Months passed, and Danny learned to shut his mouth and emotions out. He thought he was even in a state disassociation, Jazz would have been proud of him for his self diagnosis, maybe. With the passing days, Danny stopped remembering who owned him and who he was forced to fight. Sometimes, his eyes came to live when he met one of his old friends in the battle rings. Tho their fights were no longer a form or bonding, it still felt nice to sometimes feel the heat of Ember's flames, the sting of Skulkers blasters or even see a box get thrown at him.

Of course, he had tried to escape or save at least one of the others before, but whoever modified his parents' inventions knew what they were doing. All his attempts were met with failure.

But then the day everything changed came. Danny didn't know how long it had been, all he knew was that a stupid clown was his current holder. The guy spouted some nonsense or wanting to see how a bat, of all animals held himself against one of the strongest ecto-entiies. Danny really wanted to refuse, yell at that fruitloop of a clown and be done with the World.

But what he didn't expect to happen that day was the shock of electricity, the ricochet of a bullet, the crack of metal... and the collar falling of his neck.

Suddenly, Danny no longer felt like he was trapped in his own body, like he was just an onlooker, but at the same time, he had never felt this tired before. He stumbled forward his body losing whatever momentum he had before. It was a single arm that saved him from faceplanting.

"Fuck! That thing was actually a kid!"

"What?!"

"I am going to fucking murder the clown."

Danny blinked slowly as he felt his awareness sliding from him, yet he still couldn't help muttering at least something before the world would go dark. "Get in line, I really hate clowns, and he is the nightmare realm fodder."

Danny felt the arm holding him shaking, and he really wanted to close his eyes and sleep, but right before he did, in fact, black out from pure exhaustion, he heard one last thing. "I don't give a fuck, B. I like this kid so I am keeping him."

#danny fenton #dp x dc #danny phantom #dpxdc #dcxdp #crossover #jason todd #fanfic #i am sleep deprived #late night stress writing #hope any of this makes sense #Jason going to keep Danny #batfam to the rescue #once danny is awake again a lot of bad guys will wish he wasn't #random late night thoughts

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oh-no-its-bird · 3 months ago

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Ok so I love demon slayer, I love naruto, I love crossovers and I do think that the most interesting crossover you could get between the two is by including Kagaya Ubuyashiki as a major player

In Narutoland, leaders are leaders due to strength. The Kage's are the strongest around, and it makes sense bc in a warrior society ofc you want your leaders to be strong.

Kagaya is very much not that, and I wanna play with it. There's just something so fascinating ab the leader of so many scarily strong people being a soft spoken and kind man who physically could not fight if he wanted to, but is still willing to embrace The Horrors when need be. Really big contrast to Naruto, I like it

Anyways umm

Fic where after Kagaya Ubuyashiki blows up his fucking house w the wife and kids, he and maybe also the wife and kids end up zapped to Naruto.

Immediatley like, there is no Muzan here. There are no demons. Kagaya's curse to bear is over, the weight lifted from his shoulders. He has done all that he can do. He gets to retire now.

So just Kagaya trying to settle in to retirement in another world, struggling w the fact that he's like. Penniless now. Sickly young master lost all his fucking wealth and buisness investments, not much he can do there.

But no matter what he does he's too fucking charismatic and eye catching to not gain some kind of notoriety. I think it'd be funny if he's legit trying to live his best life but people keep swearing allegiance to him. He's just wandering around trying to find a way to make money and not die and accidentally picking up Deidara before Akatsuki can.

He like compliments his art by acknowledging that there is beauty in everything, even destruction. And Deidara is eyeing him like ",,,maybe this old man is ok,, I guess,,, oh no wait he's a CIVILIAN?? And also fucking useless at everything???? Man I guess I HAVE to stick around and protect him. Wow what a bummer. I guess I have no choice... and also if he pats me on the head and calls me a good boy and feeds into my many ignored complexes then that's also whatever......"

Kagaya actually just keeps running into Akatsuki members and getting varying levels of "this guy is alright I guess (if anything happened to him I'd kill everyone in the room then myself)"

He's collecting a little army of shinobi with daddy issues (every shinobi ever let's be real) by pure accident

Dw Kagaya, you don't need to worry about those medical bills bc u are now the sugar baby of multiple criminal organizations! (Don't think about it too hard)

Obito gets the worst of it, he sees Kagaya and gets flashbacks to his ailing grandmother and suddenly can't unsee it. Kagaya seems to see through his Tobi act seamlessly, and still reaches out to touch his scarred face without a single twitch of his smile and says he can feel a good man in that heart of his. Obito explodes immediatley and has to retreat for 7-10 buisness days to deal with the sudden onslaught of Feelings(tm)

Akatsuki slowly becomes good bc Kagaya learns of some of their plans and gives Obito a dissaproving frown and the psychic damage is so strong that Obito immediatley goes "ok I guess we don't HAVE to kill the children." And he just frowns harder and Obito twitches and goes ",,, or the adults. I guess. If u really think so."

#birds fic talk #demon slayer #naruto #obito uchiha #uchiha obito #obito #deidara #akatsuki #kagaya ubuyashiki #ubuyashiki kagaya #crossover

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sxfterhearts · 5 months ago

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soft bf ! jiung headcannon

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ soft bf!jiung x insecure!reader ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

♡ genre/warnings: fluff (slightly suggestive at the end), reader is insecure about being too clingy or a burden to her bf </3 jiung being a green flag

♡ word count: (sry its long) 2,163 words, all dotpoints, lowercase and no punctuation intended (also weirdly formatted bc of tumblr character limits sry guys T_T)

oK so just hear me out here - producer/composer/singer-songwriter extraordinaire choi jiung.

he started out as just a behind-the-scenes guy but awhile back he did a cover of a song he wrote for a popular idol group and blew up on the socials

so now he’s garnered a humble but sizeable following on instagram - just a group of dedicated followers who love his music and tune in to his sporadic insta lives

his fans love it because not only do they get a chance to see the face behind kpop's greatest hits, but jiung also usually does his lives from his studio where he's producing or practicing

which usually involves a bit of teasing and spoilers of upcoming music - fans love guessing which group will get to sing which unreleased song

anyways, it's a typical friday night for jiung. his work week was somewhat disrupted by an impromptu business trip down to busan to meet with his co-producers and potential international collaborators

he got back last night, but had been busy getting back into the swing of things today - just following up on emails, checking in with his team and making sure things in his everyday life are running in order

don't get him wrong - he's utterly grateful for the opportunity to work with such big names in the industry, but work trips and travel always zap the energy out of him

coupled with that the fact that he didn't manage to squeeze in time for the usual sunday date night with you before he left - jiung was feeling drained and in need of some serious T.L.C. (aka tender loving cuddles)

speaking of - he's nearly reaching the end of a short insta live, when his audio and video freezes; spazzing out as jiung's bright red phone vibrates, signaling a call from you

he's hasty, and slightly blushing as he rushes his greetings, making up some totally believable excuse about getting back to someone about fixing up lyrics for a song, before bidding everyone a good night

with a fluttering heart, jiung ends the live and calls you back within the minute

"y/n!!!" he nearly squeals into the phone receiver, eagerness clearly apparent in his tone

you're slightly taken aback at this, yet pleasantly surprised. you utter obligatory greetings and ask about his day; what he was doing

the moment he mentions that he was just on a live however, you stop dead in your tracks

you were about a ten minute walk from his studio, as you were planning to drop by to surprise him, but upon learning this new fact, you started to doubt yourself

"y/n? you still there? i can't hear you" jiung says after a pause that was around 10 seconds too long

"jiung.. you.. you... i interrupted your live, didnt i? ah... i'm so sorry, i didn't mean to.. it's just, i don't get notifications, and i had no idea, i didn't mean to disturb you, ji... i-"

"woah wOah woAH where is this coming from" he stops your rambling, quickly sensing that there was something deeper below your stuttering words. "why are you apologising, love? i was about to finish anyways, it was only a short one. you weren't disturbing me, i was planning on calling you afterwards, actually..."

"really? are you sure? cos... i mean, i dont want to impose or anything, or interrupt your job or get in the way like.. you know what maybe i should let you get back to it, you must be busy with work if you were just on live right? i'll talk to you tom-"

"y/n, y/n, wait!" jiung said, sensing the urgency. he had to catch you before you suddenly hung up or something. "wait, no, don't go." he uttered, feeling vulnerable all of a sudden. don't hang up, don't go away, don't leave me, i want to talk to you. that's what he meant.

"you sure? 100%?"

"yes, silly girl. now come over to the studio, we'll watch your favourite and i'll get us chicken."

"...."

"y/n..."

"... fine, be there in 5"

"5?! wait, no way... were you already on the way here?"

"goodbye, jiung" you said without giving him an answer

a couple of soft knocks pulled jiung out of his train of thought. tearing his eyes away from the computer screen, he walked towards the door and opened it..

..boy was he GLAD to see you - what a sight for jiung's sore eyes!! your disheveled messy bun (boys go crazy for a messy bun, trust), matching grey hoodie and sweatpants, and big glasses, plus the headphones hanging around your neck - gosh, jiung could've sworn he's seen you like this like a bajillion times and yet the sight of you in your most natural state always hit him like a ton of bricks

hes so in love with you dies (its been nearly a whole year of dating)

"jiung, i-" before you could finish your greetings or sentence, jiung drags you into the studio, closes/locks the door and throws his arms around you while burying his face in your neck, taking a deep, deep inhale of your scent

"this is heaven" he exhaled, soooo satisfied. this is definitely what home feels like, he thought

you giggled, feeling ticklish as the ends of his hair brushed against your sensitive neck "i missed you too, dummy"

"no way, i missed you the MOST. you dont understand" reluctantly he pulls away to stare you dead straight in the eyes with a serious expression "everything in busan reminded me of you. i swear its cos we took that trip in spring last year. like the seafood, and the beach, and the bridge - all i could think about was the lazy afternoons we spent together there, chilling by the water..." CRYING hes so sweet

you smiled, heart melting at his words. yet, it faltered when your gaze drifted towards his monitor setup and the phone on the desk - "about earlier, i-"

"yeah, i'd like to talk about that with you, if thats ok"

?!?!?! you were about to freak out "uh.. y-yeah.."

"NO omg no nothing bad its nothing bad y/n? y/n, breathe, its nothing bad-" he quickly added, sensing that you were on the verge of panic, again

"are you mad at me?"

"noooooooo omg y/n, thats so far from the truth. listen-" he paused to grab your face in his palms, squishing your cheeks in the process "if i were mad would i still do this?" and then he LEANS IN AND KISSES you like a man starved. (which he was btw, for like, the 5 days he didnt see you ahem)

pulling away "baby, im not mad. plus i dont think i could ever be mad at you, but i just wanted to ask you about your reaction, is that okay? do you think you can talk about it? its also completely fine if you dont want to - we can do it another time"

your brain was still bit hazy from the kiss but you just nodded blankly at his question (nodded is a stretch - more like moved your head slightly cos he was still cradling your face in his large hands)

"ok baby. now tell me," his hands shifted to your hips as he guided you towards the blue two seater sofa in the corner of his studio, pulling you onto his lap as he sat down. "why would i be mad at you? how were you interrupting me? im not accusing you of anything or trying to pick a fight, im simply trying to understand your perspective"

"well its just..." you looked down, lips in a slight pout, fingers coming to play with his as you thought about how to phrase things. jiung respectfully waited in silence as you organised your thoughts. yet, when you gnawed on your lips and adjusted your glasses, he couldnt resist the urge to give you a quick peck

"sorry - youre just too cute" he said with a cheeky grin, pulling a shy one out of you as well "go on, im listening"

"you know how i told you about that guy i was with before i met you..."

jiung could sense where this was going and could feel his blood run cold at the mention of your ex "yes... why what about him"

"well........ heusedtosaythatiwastlikeooclingyforhimandialwaysfeltlikeiwasaburdentohimratherthanhisgirlfriend"

jiung sat there, shocked and out of words for a few moments before he asked in disbelief, "he said you were too clingy and were a burden?"

"yeah well, kind of said words to that effect, yes. and was like not happy when i got in the way of his work or hanging out with his friends, but i swear it wasnt even like that bad - its just he forgot to wish me on my birthday that one time because he was having a night out with his friends and when i asked him why he told me that i was a burden and getting in the way of him having fun with his friends……..”

“he what.” jiung couldnt help it, he could feel his blood boiling and steam threatening to burst out of his ears. how could anyone, let alone someone who was meant to be your boyfriend, treat you like that?

“i…” you werent sure how to respond - especially when you took one peek at jiung’s face and was met with his cold hard expression. thinking that your response might have upset him made your eyes well up in tears, “i’m sorry… maybe i shouldn’t have brought it up” you said, bottom lips beginning to wobble

jiung sprung into action yet again, moving his long arms around your upper body and hugging you tightly to his chest. his palms came to rest on top of your head as he felt your body quiver the way it usually did before you started crying (something he wished he never had to experience - because you deserve only the best - yet at the same time he was glad he could be there for you during your lowest) “shh, sweet girl. im not mad at you, and you dont need to say sorry for anything at all. if anything im furious at the guy for treating you in such a way - missing his girlfriend’s birthday?” he scoffed in disbelief “he doesnt deserve you at all”

you looked at him with your big, wet eyes, and jiung felt his heart stutter. you were just too cute for this world. “really?”

“yes, baby. sometimes i think i dont even deserve you myself - you are so kind, so smart, and capable of doing such great things. you… youre so good at taking care of me when im busy or tired, you always help others when you can, you think about other people and put them first. you have such a beautiful mind, and soul, and body.” he blushed whilst saying this. “and you are definitely not too much or too cling or a burden to me in any way - in fact, i like that you take interest in my work, and i like that you ask about my songs or listen to my demos. i value your opinions, and i think you give great suggestions. in fact, take this as an open invitation to “bother” me whenever you like. i like that you think about me and call me, and i like that you want to see me and ask about my day. i like that you’re my burden.”

you were a blushing mess at the end of his monologue, cheeks wet with tears - happy ones, this time. “jiung, that’s…” you paused to wipe your tears, but he beat you to it by swiping a warm thumb across your cheeks whilst gazing at you as though you hung up the stars and the moon and the entire galaxy. (to him, you did, at least.) “that’s so sweet…”

“i mean it, i truly do.” he nodded, bringing you in for a gentle kiss, lips meeting in their familiar dance as he tried to convey his sincere feelings through it. his hands travelled down your body to rest at your hips as the makeout session escalated - what was once loving and sweet started to get more heated as he licked your bottom lip for access, which you granted with a pleased sigh. jiungs hands wandered under your shirt and you squealed at the skin-to-skin contact.

“we should…” jiung pulled away, reluctant and breathless. “we should stop. food. have you eaten?”

you shook your head in response, but formed your lips into a pout. “want more kisses.” you whispered, snuggling your face into the space where his neck meets his shoulders, planting a few open mouthed kisses on the skin there and leaving goosebumps in its wake. “missed you so much, ji…”

“but its late… we should eat dinner…” jiung, the ever responsible adult, tried to remind you but to no avail. his already weak resolve was broken when you decided to nip at the sensitive skin right under his ear. a strangled moan left his lips as you lapped over your latest artwork: a bright red hickey.

“have me instead.” you whispered right into his ears

and who was he to say no to that?

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hb-writes · 4 months ago

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Drunk Shakespeare

Summary: It’s Summer 1925 in the Little Lady Blinderverse. Isiah and Clara decide to end their work day early to escape the heat of the betting shop, but find the heat in the air between them is harder to escape than they thought.

Characters: Clara Shelby x Isiah Jesus, Finn Shelby pops in for a moment.

Prompt: Almost caught

Content Warnings: Just vibes and a little kissing.

Tell me what y'all think! Reviews and comments are always appreciated. 😌❤️

Peaky Blinders (Little Lady Blinder) Masterlist

Peaky Blinders (Non-Shelby!Sister) Masterlist

Clara watched the long hand of her brother's old pocket watch as it moved around the clock face, the quiet ticks and tocks seeming to mock her as they seemed to slow and delay in her mind.

After what had seemed like an eternity squashed into a mere morning and early afternoon, she was basically caught up on the books. Or at least, if she wasn't precisely caught up, Clara wasn't feeling particularly motivated to keep working on them. Not that she'd been doing anything that could really be considered ‘work’ for the last hour and a half.

Shoving the pocketwatch away, she glanced at Isiah. He was across the room in Finn’s office, twirling a pencil in his fingers. Clara wasn't sure what he was meant to be ‘working’ on in her brother's office, but she assumed pencil twirling wasn't it.

It had been a slow afternoon. No one had been keen on laying bets or working, so the shop had emptied early. Everyone had finished up their day's work and gone home.

In this heat, Clara didn't blame them. Despite the mound of work she had to complete for her brother, she didn't want to be here either.

Clara had already shed her sweater. She couldn't respectably lose any more layers or she'd be left in just her slip, but she longed for it. She longed for a breeze or dip in one of the ponds on the grounds of Arrow House. She longed for a chunk of ice from the ice box in the kitchen. She longed for the end of this Friday afternoon, the end to this stale, sticky existence.

Clara pushed herself back from the desk—Tommy's desk, though he never used it anymore. The chair was more hers than his these days. Tommy had once said it could be Clara’s one day—the boss's chair—but even though it was her who sat in it more than him, Clara wasn't the boss. Today, she felt no better than any other working person staring at the clock and waiting for the end of their shift. It seemed that was all she’d done all day.

She'd have to come back and finish what she hadn’t accomplished before the end of the month—over the weekend or early before she was due at the Jamaica Row office on Monday morning. It wasn't smart putting it off, but Clara didn't care. The heat had zapped any sense of caring from her system, leeching all of the diligent conscientiousness she was known for straight out of her.

"What are the odds we get caught out if we lock up early?”

Isiah's foot fell off the desk and slammed against the floor, Clara's sudden presence in the room startling him more than it should have considering a wall of windows lined the office and he’d faced that way, his glossy gaze set out toward the empty shop she crossed over on her way to get to him.

"Christ, Clara—Trying to stop my fucking heart, eh?"

Clara sighed, rolling her eyes at Isiah’s dramatics out of nothing more than habit. The whole bit was familiar. He usually would have wrapped her head in an arm, ruffling her hair as retribution, but today he barely moved, barely even allowed the muscles of his mouth to pull into a smirk.

Clara was glad for it because if Isiah laid a hand on her, Clara thought she might scream. The idea of him coming anywhere near her in this heat, of his warm hand in her already frizzy hair…she felt warmer just thinking about it.

"The only thing I'm trying to do is stop working."

"You're finished?”

Clara shrugged. She didn't have it in her to lie, but she didn’t quite want to admit she’d been doing close to nothing all day either. "Are you?'

"I've been done for hours."

"What are you sitting in here for, then?"

She could see that she wasn't the only warm one. Isiah had rolled his shirt sleeves. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he looked at her with a raised eyebrow. She couldn't imagine why he'd choose to sit here when he could be anywhere else.

Isiah raised an eyebrow. "What do you think?"

"Fucking hell. You’re babysitting. Tommy's such a—"

“Finn," Isiah interrupted.

"What?"

"It was Finn’s idea. Said 'I've got a meeting across town. Keep an eye on her.’ Not Tom."

Clara hummed, filing that annoying development away to complain about later. For today it was an order from Finn’s mouth, but before Finn, it had been John, and before that, she knew the order had originated with Tommy and Arthur. Tommy, who Isiah no routinely called 'Tom' and defended, as if they were friends. On the same side of things. Clara let the thought go, too hot for the annoyance that came with thinking too hard on her brothers.

"Where'd Finn go, anyway?'

"Meeting across town," Isiah answered, repeating the words with a smirk.

Clara breathed deeply, stifling the urge to hit him. She could imagine herself doing it, the satisfaction of her open palm—all clammy and swollen with the heavy moisture of the air—smacking against Isiah’s stupid, sweaty forehead.

“I just said.” Isiah added, stupid grin still on his face. “The heat getting to you, there, Miss Shelby?”

It was hotter in Finn's office than it was in Tommy's. There were no windows to the outside here, no airflow. Clara pulled at her dress, the fabric sticking to her collarbone as she tried to catch some relief.

“I meant who’s he with?”

Isiah shrugged. “Afraid that's above my pay grade. Can’t be asking after the boss’s whereabouts now, can I, love?”

Clara rolled her eyes. Finn wasn’t any sort of boss, not really, even if he was acting like it lately. And the amount of things that fell above Isiah's pay grade had dwindled over the last few years. She was nearly certain Isiah knew exactly who Finn was meeting with and what it was about, but she let it go, figuring that if it was important or relevant to her, he'd have just told her. The fact that he was playing with her told her it wasn't either of those things.

“Fine. Tell me, love, does the 'boss' have anything good in that drawer there?” Clara nodded toward the desk and Isiah shook his head, chuckling.

“What are you shaking your head for? What’s he going to do?” she asked. “Fire us for borrowing his whiskey and skiving off?”

“Tom—”

“I don’t care what Tommy or Arthur or John or Finn has said. It’s hot and there’s no reason for us to be cooped up here. I’ll take my chances with the lot of them.” Clara reached down, pulling out the bottle of whiskey. She opened it and took a slug before she handed the bottle to Isiah. After he drank, Clara held a hand out to him.

He raised an eyebrow, glancing at the hand they both knew was clammy and damp with sweat. Clara ran her hand down the side of her dress before presenting it again.

Isiah rolled his eyes as he slipped his hand into hers and Clara groaned, dropping his slicked hand in an instant. Isiah smirked as he ran his hand down the side of her skirts same as Clara had just done. No other man would’ve dared to slide his hand down Clara Shelby’s side like that, but this was Isiah and they were alone in the shop—no prying eyes to watch over them for a change.

“You’re insufferable.”

Isiah chuckled. “You’ve said so plenty enough.”

“Because it’s true.”

“Well, between you and me, it’s mutual.”

Clara yanked his hand then, pulling him out of the chair and to his feet. Isiah stumbled for her benefit.

“You’re testy today.”

“I’m hot,” Clara answered, walking towards the staircase. She tugged Isiah along up the first few steps, her arm straining as Isiah stopped on the third step from the bottom.

“And we’re going to the second floor to cool off?”

Clara took a deep breath before stopping and turning back to Isiah.

“We’re all locked up?”

Isiah nodded. He'd gone around to check all of the doors after Finn headed out. “Have been for hours.”

“Good, now shut up and do what you're told.”

Isiah snorted. “Yes, ma’am.”

Clara smirked at that. At least someone respected her. Even if it was just Isiah, and even if he was only playing, the telltale smile tugging at his lips, a bit of glee right there dancing in his eyes. Because even with those things present, Clara knew some part of it was genuine. Isiah respected her more than most people in her life. Believed in her more than most, too. And he had always offered up a bit of his power in the context of their relationship, allowing her to win on most things.

Not every single thing, but most.

Enough of the time that Clara knew when he was doing it.

As they moved up the stairs, the heat wrapped around them like a blanket. Someone had shut all of the windows, the air up there even more stale than it had been down in the shop.

Clara had a moment of doubt while the stifling heat grew, smothering them both and challenging Clara's breathing. Sweat collected on her back and chest under her clothes. She cursed in her head that maybe Isiah was right. Maybe there was no relief to be found on this Friday afternoon, not unless she wanted to give in and head out to her brother's house.

But Clara didn’t want to. If she did, Tommy would have questions about the books and whether or not she’d caught up yet. She didn’t have it in her to try to lie to him. If she was being honest, she didn’t have it in her for much of anything except simply being.

Walking the stairs of her childhood home with Isiah’s hand growing sweaty in hers, Clara was reminded of simpler days. Of times when she’d been just allowed to be. Even then, she’d been an anxious child. Overwhelmed and feeling like she was pulled in a million different ways, but looking back on it now, Clara was nostalgic for a certain freedom inherent to childhood. A certain freedom that came with not fully understanding the actions and motivations of the adults surrounding her.

She had always sought to understand, had always wanted to be a part of things, and now that she was—now that she and Isiah both were thoroughly integrated parts of the things they’d once begged to be included in—Clara would give anything for the two of them to go back to before.

To be reading together from a book, or pretending to be Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson. To be just two kids in their own little bubble, just the two of them against the world. It was a lovely thought, accompanied by a lovely feeling of nostalgia and as they stepped onto the second floor—just the two of them there within the walls of number 6 Watery Lane—Clara thought maybe it could still be the case.

The times were less frequent these days, but there were still moments when Clara would catch Isiah's gaze across the room, the two of them immediately caught up in some secret conversation that no one else even knew was taking place.

And sometimes, the two of them would dance, and as Isiah spun Clara around, she could’ve sworn there was no one else in the world. On those occasions, it was as if the music played of its own accord, no one needed to pull the strings or croon the melodies, the two of them feeling anonymous and alone even though they were surrounded by other couples.

“Come on, Siah,” Clara said as she tugged Isiah’s hand, some part of her certain that she could reach out and grasp that feeling, as if it was something she could trap and hold onto, keeping it close to her heart.

Isiah smiled at Clara’s impatience, his body so near to hers that he could feel the heat radiating off her back, a warmth separate from that of the air around them, almost pulsing between them.

Clara dropped his hand as she stepped into her bedroom, still neat and tidy and kept as if the 12-year-old girl she once was still lived there. As she moved toward the window, Clara pressed the whiskey bottle into Isiah’s hand, not bothering to look back to confirm it was within his grasp before she let go.

Isiah leaned against her dresser, watching as she struggled with the window, the wooden frame stiff and swollen and thoroughly stuck from the heat and years of disuse.

As he watched, Isiah wondered...when was the last time Clara Shelby had climbed out through her bedroom window? When was the last time Isiah Jesus had climbed out with her?

Neither of them could remember, and it seemed like the room had forgotten as well, the window remaining belligerently shut even as Clara dug in her heels and leveraged all of her strength in trying to raise the pane, a new layer of sweat gleaming at her hairline as she struggled.

“Alright,” Isiah started as he eased off the dresser, the whiskey bottle set aside. “Let me—”

“No!” Clara answered, her voice booming with the strength of her struggle as she kicked a leg out in Isiah’s general direction to keep him back. “I’ll get it. You choose a book.”

Clara sent her foot out again, this time directing it toward the other side of the room, and Isiah turned to follow the direction of her kick, straight to the chair beside her bed where a stack of books sat piled dangerously high.

The pile was a mix of old and new, a selection of books from her childhood and few of her more recent favorites interspersed with a few of the books Isiah remembered as coming from Tommy’s shelf. Those books had once been forbidden to Clara, but Isiah supposed they were far beyond forbidden books at this stage. And Tommy Shelby had far bigger concerns than what types of books his sister was reading.

Isiah fished a book out of the pile before returning his attention to Clara. He was about to sit down on her bed to watch the show of her struggle when the window flew open, the sudden movement accompanied by a rush of air and a celebratory shout from Clara.

“I told you I would get it,” she said, wiping the sweat from her brow as she turned to him.

Isiah rolled his eyes fondly and crossed the room to grab the whiskey, a swallowed comment on the tip of his tongue because even though Isiah and Clara usually passed quips back and forth, he was more interested in getting out on the roof, more interested in the reprieve of fresh air. Isiah pressed the book and bottle into Clara's hands before swinging himself out through the window.

Isiah was through in a small span of seconds, but it was certainly a more difficult maneuver than he remembered now that his body was all long limbs and the window seemed infinitely smaller than it once was.

Reaching back through the frame, he took the book and the bottle Clara handed off. Isiah set them both aside before holding his hand out back through the open window.

“I can—”

“Just let me help, won’t you?” Isiah interrupted. He wiped his hand down the front of his pants before holding it out again. “Gotta fight me about everything.”

“I’m not—” Clara grasped his hand, allowing Isiah to tug her through, and letting go once she was steady on her feet. “—fighting. I just—”

“Can do it yourself,” Isiah answered. “I know. Doesn’t mean you should always have to.”

Clara huffed even though a part of her appreciated the sentiment. She tried to be independent. She tried to do everything for herself. She tried to prove how smart and strong and capable she was to just about everyone, but she didn’t have to prove any of that to Isiah.

Clara unbuttoned the top of her dress, gently fanning herself with the loose fabric as she looked over the courtyard. She took a deep breath, grateful for the grey and cloudy Birmingham skies that shielded them from the heady rays of sun she usually craved.

The roof outside of her bedroom wasn’t exactly the reprieve she had imagined, but it was marginally better than the dense staleness of the shop and her bedroom.

“Romeo and Juliet?” Clara asked as she lowered herself to the roof and reached for the book. “Really, Isiah?”

While Clara enjoyed her Shakespeare, the play hadn’t exactly been her favorite, and her memories of the piece were tainted by the fact that she’d first read it at school, with Juliet’s role going to a girl she wasn’t particularly fond of. Clara would’ve preferred to revisit Sherlock Holmes or one of Tommy’s old books.

Isiah shrugged and sat down beside her, reaching for the bottle. “Reminded me of when you tried stepping out with that Italian kid.”

He said it as if he didn’t remember the name of the ‘Italian kid.' As if it had been nothing but a blip. As if her social connections hadn’t gotten her into nothing but trouble that year and been the source of arguments between her and her family, and her and Isiah.

Clara shoved Isiah’s shoulder.

“I wasn’t stepping out with anyone.”

It had been a friendship. Maybe with a hint of a crush, but there had been no stepping out. Nothing close. Her brothers' reputation had seen to that.

“And anyway, it’s more like when you were stepping out with that Cheapie girl.”

Isiah raised an eyebrow. “What are you on about?”

“Ruth,” Clara answered. “Practically Wally Bartow in a dress.”

He snorted. “It was one dance, Clara. Didn’t even know her name. Had no clue she was a Bartow.”

Clara shrugged. “You looked awfully cozy if I remember properly.”

“Well, that’s just how I dance, love.” Isiah winked at her before taking a swig from the bottle. “You know that better than anyone.

“And I'm sorry to inform you, but if either of us is destined to have a love life like these two—” Isiah nodded towards the book. “—it’s you. No matter who you end up with, it’ll be like Montagues and Capulets. Shelbys against whatever poor sap you choose.”

Isiah knocked her shoulder, the touch telling her it was only a joke. Clara stayed leaning against him as long as she could manage in the heat before prying the bottle from his fingers to take a sip.

“Ada says us Shelby girls are cursed that way.”

Isiah reached for the book, thumbing through the pages rather than answering. He had an idea about that particular curse. He had been old enough to remember how Ada’s marriage had been handled, and even if he hadn’t been, Isiah knew how Clara was being managed.

How they both had been managed for years now.

Isiah reached out for the bottle, taking another swig before he started reading.

“Two households, both alike in dignity, In fair Verona, where we lay our scene…”

They passed a few hours reading and talking and sipping from the bottle, the pair moving on to gentle conversation interspersed with quotes from Shakespeare’s catalog once the pages became too difficult to read in the dimming light. Lost in the throes of conversation, easy laughter and the cooling night breeze, Isiah and Clara were suspended in what felt like a world that was just their own, their sense of time and place and awareness pushed aside.

Clara was giggling at some obscure quote Isiah had pulled seemingly out of nowhere when Isiah sensed suddenly that the world was no longer theirs alone, his attention gone to the far end of the shared courtyard, a familiar chorus of boisterous laughter reaching his ear from across the space.

Isiah was faintly aware of Clara naming the play he’d quoted before she shared her next quote, a gentle laughter lacing her words as she spoke, but the awareness of his heart pounding against his chest was stronger, a sudden urge to quiet her—to shield their presence there on the roof—taking over.

Overcome with that urge, Isiah could’ve shushed her or set his hand over her mouth to stifle the words.

Or he could've taken a breath and calmed himself and simply let her finish.

It wasn't as if they were doing anything wrong. There was no reason to hide.

Isiah could have let Clara tell him, ‘I do desire we may be better strangers,’ before dissolving into giggles. He could’ve then told her the quote was from ‘As You Like It,’ a quote which he was intimately familiar with because Clara had directed it at him and Finn a number of times before, sometimes in jest, sometimes because she wished to hurt them.

No one would question Isiah and Clara being out on the roof with a book and a bottle of whiskey, least of all Finn. People were plenty used to their antics, but something felt different tonight so Isiah only let Clara get half a sentence out before he placed his hand at the back of her head, drawing her in close and pressing his lips to hers in the dark, catching her words and quieting her so efficiently that it was nearly silent on the roof as Finn and the junior Peaky Boys passed over the back threshold of no. 6.

The kiss only lasted a few seconds, but Isiah felt Clara’s whole body relax within his touch. She leaned into the hand he cradled behind her head, allowing him to deepen the kiss he hadn’t intended on giving in the first place, her hands reaching out for him, her fingernails grazing his scalp in a way that sent shivers down his spine.

Isiah pulled away, but even so, for a moment, he forgot where he was. He forgot why he’d kissed her, or at least he’d forgotten whatever justification he’d initially provided himself for pressing his lips to hers. He forgot about Finn and the boys. He forgot about Shakespeare and feuds and consequences. With his warm hand still on the back of Clara’s sweaty neck, barely able to see the details of her now flushed face, it was once again just the two of them there in the world.

With their faces still so close that Clara could feel Isiah’s warm whiskey-tinged breath on her face, her eyes shifted to his lips. She couldn’t remember what they were talking about before. She didn’t know why he’d kissed her. She had heard the back door slam, some part of her aware of her twin's proximity, an awareness Aunt Polly had always tol her was part of her gifts, but as Clara pulled Isiah's lips back to hers, she found she didn’t care to remember there was more to the world than the two of them and this.

She didn’t want to question it, and yet, Clara was first to pull away this time, her ears far more sensitive to the familiar sound of someone turning the handle of her childhood bedroom’s door than Isiah was. With a sudden swiftness, she removed herself from Isiah’s hold and pushed him back against the roof as she extended her hand up to the sky.

“There you are,” Finn said, sticking his head out the open window to see what Clara was pointing at. "What are the two of you out here for?"

Clara tilted her head back to her brother. “Constellations and Shakespeare. Would you like to join us?” she asked, the words feeling odd to her as they passed through her swollen lips.

“No,” Finn snorted. “It's payday. We’re heading to the Garrison, and then maybe to a few other—”

“No, thank you. I'm staying here,” Clara answered, even though it wasn’t exactly an invite Finn had extended, but more of a declaration. An order.

A flash of something passed over Finn’s face. Clara could barely see it in the dark, but she figured it was a bit of annoyance, maybe, or a touch of shock at being refused. It seemed like more and more, Finn was coming to expect the same sort of compliance from Clara that the others did, forgetting that it was mere minutes that separated their births rather than years.

“It’s too hot, Finn,” Clara added, her tone a bit softer. “I have no desire to be holed up in the snug, squashed between you lot.”

“Alright, then. Isiah?” Finn tried.

“She’s got a point, mate.”

Clara heard someone shouting from the floor below, the details muffled by the shut door, but Finn seemed to recognize their meaning well enough.

"Are you sure?" Clara sensed the question was for Isiah even though they could barely see each other's faces in the growing dark. "Drinks are on Shelby Company Ltd. tonight," Finn added, as if Isiah's drinks weren't usually on the house, anyway.

"It's alright. You go ahead with the boys," Isiah offered. "I'll keep an eye on Clara."

Clara's elbow twitched, the desire to ram it into Isiah's ribcage surging as she caught the hint of a smirk on Isiah's face, but Clara stopped herself knowing that it had been the right thing to say.

Finn nodded his understanding in the dark, his attention pulled to the stairs once again by a sudden noise.

"Don't fall asleep out there, Clara."

Clara heaved a breath to stop herself from telling him he had no business telling her where she could or couldn't fall asleep, but Isiah beat her to it, telling Finn he would handle it.

No matter that Finn would likely be the one who needed assistance finding his bed before the night was through...

"Have a good night," Finn said as he stepped away from the window, leaving Isiah and Clara alone. They leaned back against the roof, the two of them staring at the sky in silence as they listened to the sounds of Finn and the boys heading out through the back door, their shouting and laughter echoing as they traversed the shared courtyard.

When the echoes died away, Clara stretched out her fingers, seeking the familiar roughness of Isiah’s palm.

“That was bad,” Isiah said, his fingers closing around hers. “Close...we almost got caught.”

Clara heaved a breath before turning to face him. “There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.”

Isiah snorted. He glanced briefly to his right to meet Clara's gaze in the dark before tipping his head back to the sky.

"Hamlet," Isiah answered softly, squeezing her hand gently before releasing her fingers.

They had been through this time and time again, the two of them dancing around the label of what they were. Friends. Best friends. Something more. They had settled on friends as far as most of the world was concerned, but that didn’t mean the lines weren’t still blurry at times, their belligerent feelings tangled and confused and persistent. For years now, they had maintained a mostly unspoken agreement that they’d keep anything beyond friendship hidden—from themselves, from one another, from everyone else.

Most especially from everyone else.

They'd learned early on that it wasn't worth the strife. It wasn't worth the fight. Any resistance had been squashed down time and again. Somehow, this felt easier. Less painful.

If it was up to the two of them, perhaps things would be different. Perhaps they’d have tried at love and failed, and moved on by now. Or perhaps they would have tried and it would have been easy. Smooth.

Perhaps there would be no confusion or jealousy or hiding. No dismissing their closeness as nothing more than echo of a childhood friendship, no stinging comments on who the other had stepped out with—the slights used both as a weapon and a protection to guard their tender hearts.

But as it was, Clara and Isiah had never been given a proper chance at something more. A boundary had been set for them at the outset, a series of orders they’d both been too young to fight at the time. They’d been at the mercy of the powers that be, and even though they were older now, they were still at the mercy of that power.

Or maybe they still danced around the boundary because it felt easier, somehow safer for them both to keep that prescribed distance between them.

“Perhaps I am destined for tragedy, Isiah.” Clara mused. “Or simply to be alone. Unloved for eternity.”

“You’re not alone, love.” Isiah reached for the hand he’d dropped only moments before. “I’m right here.”

“And you know I love you," he added as Clara curled toward him, resting her head against his chest.

Clara sighed and nodded.

“I love you, too,” she added, and Isiah’s chest fell with the breath he’d been holding.

“Can we not just pretend that’s enough?” Clara asked. “Just for tonight?”

They were dangerous questions and Clara asked them without turning to observe Isiah’s face. She could feel the tenseness of his body beneath her, the fear her questions provoked.

“Like it’s just us in the world and no one else?” she tried, a question and a wish because the house was empty and the roof was dark and it was unlikely they’d be caught.

Isiah feared that a little, but more than he feared getting caught—for they’d successfully explained away so much over the years and he had no doubt they could manage it again—Isiah feared the two of them getting caught up in things. He feared getting caught up in the true feelings between them, the ones they’d so carefully worked to keep a hold on all of these years, a carefully manicured relationship that allowed them to be close, but not so close that they fell over the edge.

For even though Isiah dated other girls, and even though Clara insisted that Isiah Jesus was just a friend, they both knew there was something more between them. A magnetic pull, something in their hearts that they both knew to be true love.

In the moments when the two of them could be honest with each other, when the rest of the world fell away...on nights like tonight, it wasn’t especially unusual for their lips to meet. It wasn’t unusual for Clara’s hopelessly romantic naïveté to make a showing. For some part of her to feel that it could be easy. That it could work.

And it wasn’t unusual for Isiah to agree. For every part of him to want the very thing they spent the bulk of their days denying and shutting down.

They were both craving it now though, both barely able to remember why they ever did hold back. It was just the two of them there on the roof beneath a blanket of smog-covered stars, both of them still hazy around the edges due to the whiskey and the heat and the memory of their kiss, the memory of his hands on the back of her neck.

Those things made it easy to hope. They made it easy to forget.

Because if they were surrounded by friends at the Garrison or out at Arrow House or under the watchful eye of a Blinder, Clara and Isiah wouldn’t even entertain the thought that they could be more than friends. Under those circumstances, they’d be easily convinced that regardless of the feelings between them, it was much too complicated, much too difficult.

“Maybe we should just run away. Find a place in the world where there are stars in the sky and no Shelbys.”

Isiah snorted. “Not even you?”

“Well, just me,” Clara amended. “Just me and you and no one else we've ever met. It could be easy.”

“Maybe,” Isiah hummed, his hand tilting Clara’s face up to his as he spoke. “but the course of true love never did run smooth, Clara Shelby”

“A Midsummer Night’s—” Clara started, only for the rest of the play’s title to be caught up by Isiah’s lips.

They both knew it wasn’t a good idea, dabbling in love when neither was ready to commit to the war it would be. Neither was quite ready for the consequences of them moving beyond friendship, moving against her family’s wishes and decrees, but they let it happen anyway, some piece of their hearts holding on to the hope that someday they wouldn’t be hiding on a rooftop, stealing hungry kisses in the dark.

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