#this poor woman has always been An Object always been on display

[woolandcoffee]

Finally reading Gone Girl and you know what, I woulda gone girled this man too.

[thewickedkat]

long post incoming; meta enthusiasts may wish to digest this in chunks.

i am so completely exasperated with Laudna as of the latest episode. however, i temper that exasperation with my enjoyment as a viewer; indeed, i am feasting on the conflict, thinking finally, some good fucking food, because i think (and have always thought) that Laudna is terrifically interesting as a character and she presents wonderful opportunities for growth not only on her end, but as a catalyst for others.

that being said. the sword. how she handled it. how she handled her own trauma bubbling up, how she handled (or didn't) Delilah, how she handled Orym and Chetney and Dorian and the whole miserable mess she made.

it was selfish. there. i said it. you may disagree with me, i care not, but her course of action was terribly selfish and destructive.

i know many people out there have been likening her behaviour to that of an addict's (and there are many common factors there: the hiding, the lying by omission, the shame, the acquiescence to bad behaviour), but i think in some ways that to do so is reductive, and also removes agency from Laudna herself.

she is allowing her trauma to almost make her decisions for her, allowing it to define her, and she is not giving herself the opportunity to realise that growth beyond it is possible--or, perhaps, she does realise this and is simply too afraid to reach out and grasp it. i think even if Delilah weren't trying to subsume her, Laudna would still be self-sabotaging and self-destructive and still try to hide the parts of her she felt were undesirable; Delilah in many ways simply makes it easier for Laudna to do so and, if pressed, provides a rationalisation for Laudna's choices and actions (as in 'it wasn't me, it was her, she made me do it).

first and foremost, Laudna was a victim of heinous trauma, being murdered and then being put on grotesque display. then she was further traumatised in coming back from the dead and being forced to isolate herself from people for many years, with only Delilah's honeysweet venom dripping into her ear for that time. then she is murdered again as an object lesson for the woman she loves, then stuffed down so deep into her own psyche by the one who first killed her; she is fought for and brought back by her friends...who then seem to do little to check in with her, to make sure she is stable, or coping, because they each have their own baggage and oh by the way, the world is possibly ending. to be fair, there is little time for therapy and stability when you are literally running from crisis to crisis and trying to stop something you haven't even conceived of in your nightmares.

she feels dismissed, often, minimised, and she never developed healthy people skills or coping mechanisms (i am sorry but as much as i love P��té, a dead rat does not a support group make). so she lashes out, has poor emotional regulation, and Does Crappy Things. so i also understand when she said 'what else have i to give, but myself?'

all that being said. what she did with Orym and the sword was fucking selfish. she is behaving like a child, as if she is the only one whose tragedies matter; she's playing Oppression Olympics, and can i just point out that Orym was the one to say 'i'm sorry' but Laudna never apologised for accosting him while he slept and hurting him? saying 'i didn't mean to hurt you' is not the same, because that implies that if she had not hurt him, stealing from him was perfectly acceptable and reasonable.

i don't believe her when she said 'i accept responsibility' because that means one must accept the consequences of their own actions, and right after she said that, she argued with everyone, told the oldest member of the Hells that he had no right to talk about loss to her, and then fled. that isn't accepting responsibility; that is mouthing platitudes in the hopes you will sway others to your point of view and when it fails, leaving in a huff like a child having a tantrum.

she didn't even bother to ask Orym why he kept the sword. she just tried to take.

Laudna often reacts from a place of fear: of pain, of more trauma, fear of inadequacy, of loss. all of these fears are valid. they are understandable, given all that has happened to her. but just because her fears are valid does not give her the right to make others pay for her emotional baggage. this is what makes her behaviour in ep 95 selfish. all of her actions in the back half of that episode are things she chose to do, and now she must sit in the mess she made. Laudna seems to be falling into the same mental rut that many victims fall into when their trauma isn't dealt with in a healthy fashion: they start fucking others over, as if being a victim excuses it. it does not.

and before others come for me, i say that as one who used to do the same fucking thing but i was lucky enough to have therapy. Laudna doesn't have that luxury--none of the Hells do. there simply isn't time to make space for any of their issues, not just Laudna's. Imogen is still wrestling with her mother; Fearne is wrestling with her parentage; Orym is just trying to keep his feet under him and do what he feels is right without betraying anyone he cares for (yes, including Laudna, shut up); Ashton is still trying to process the loss of Fresh Cut Grass (for gods' sakes, the crafting night was a fucking wake for the lil guy); Dorian just lost his brother and watched his friend succumb to a Betrayer God that turned her into a monster; and Chetney? Chetney is an old man who, i personally think, can pick his battles and knows how to compartmentalise better than any of these kids.

Laudna is not unique in that she has suffered horribly. no one is saying she hasn't, but her behaviour implies that she believes they are saying that. her actions imply she believes not only that she does not trust her friends (thanks, Dorian), but that acknowledging others' losses somehow negates hers. there just isn't time to healthily process any of this, which sucks. it does. i do think her friends love her, care for her deeply, and i think part of the reason they haven't checked up on her as much as they could is because a) they're afraid that her problem with Delilah is much worse than they thought (duh, it is); b) they can't fix the Delilah Problem right now even if they were qualified to do so (even Pike couldn't scour that bitch out of Laudna, she said as much); and c) they run the very substantial risk of wholly alienating Laudna if they press the issue too hard, thus not only losing an asset in the fight against the Vanguard and Ludinus, but also a friend and lover.

it's shit, all around, we all know that. but to pretend that it's okay she did what she did to Orym--or worse, somehow transfer responsibility from her onto him and make it his fault--is infantilising and disingenuous at best, and more than a little insulting.

[thecommunityfridge]

My Pretty Art

CW: degradation, bondage (rope and cuffs), penitration (anal, toys and fingers), wax play, impact play, sensory deprivation, objectification. 

Sometimes I’m just in the mood to create. It strikes me in my most passionate moments, I feel the itch, it starts to consume my mind, engulf my being. Today the desire has been smoldering in my stomach for hours, but obviously I cannot just start creating. I need my materials, my tools, so I start to gather what I need. Of course an artist needs a way to frame their art, some materials to make pretty colors, and maybe even something to write my signature on the bottom. Oh and of course I need a canvas.

I texted her and told her that I want her to get naked, put on a blind fold, put on red lipstick, leave out the lipstick, and kneel in the center of the room. With my materials stuffed in a duffle bag in the back seat of my car, I pull into the driveway of her house. Gathering myself, I walk into the front door, I don’t know why I bother to make sure I looked good, she would be blindfolded. Tip tap tip tap, my boots click on the hardwood floor as I walk down the hall. She perked up as soon as I walk into the room, straightening her chest as to present herself as my object to mold as I want. “Good evening my pretty pretty darling” I walk over to the beautiful naked woman, her nipples showing how completely aroused she is to be waiting for me in such a vulnerable position. I brush my hand against her cheek which startles her at first but immediately she pushes her had against it as I take my thumb and press it against her lips. She immediately starts sucking on it.

“Today you are gonna be art”, I place the duffle bag on the ground sauntering over to the lipstick on a side table nearby. “You are only beautiful when I make you beautiful”, the words slip out of my mouth as if they were a cloud of cigarette smoke, “and today I will make sure it is obvious that I can make you the center piece of any art gallery”. She was always beautiful to me but I knew what I was doing, the poor girl got off on her self worth being reliant on me. I was her owner after all. “Of course every piece of art needs a title” I crouch down in front of her and she immediately whines a little bit, she can sense my presence but obviously has no clue what I am doing. I start to write across her forehead “My Pretty”, then I grab her face and jerk it to the side and start writing “WHORE”, with the O as her mouth. “Beautiful, I am inspired. A title that could not be more appropriate for a piece of art”.

“Thank you sir” she says and ends with a gasp because I have grabbed her face again.

“I’ve never seen a piece of art that talks to me” I growled putting a red ball gag in her mouth. I can tell she’s really into it now, her breathing has started to git heavier, her hips going higher and higher in subconscious desperation for me to play with her. “I will be taking any excessive talking as an attempt to use a safeword, so try to keep yourself quiet”

Now that she has a title and is set to be my canvas, I wonder what I should do next. Every good piece of art must be displayed, how shall I display my art. She’s already in the middle of the room which is perfect, but she needs to be spread out. I need to be able to see all of her, a crumpled up piece of paper rarely gets seen. I grab my rope out of the bag and grab her hair and watch her struggle to try and keep up with standing up before it hurts too much. I hear her trying to breath through the gag, she can’t help it, she’s just trying to survive currently. In a moment I grab her wrists and put them together behind her. I grab her neck and let her lay her head onto my shoulder. “What should I do to make you prettier” I say as my hand slowly walks down to her hard nipple. She gives a soft moan into my neck as I tease her, just slowly moving my finger back and forth across her nipple. Then I start tying, starting with her wrists to keep them together behind her back.

Then once her wrists are tied I move the rope around the top of her breast, making sure I get as close to her as possible so she feels my hard cock against her. Going around twice but on the second pass I wrap around the beginning of the tie and pull slowly as I see the tie tightening around her. The poor girl lets out what I can only assume is a “Oh god” as the rope starts to dig into her skin. Then I do the same this time going under her breasts. Finally after two passes I tie the tie into the wrist restraints and tie it the the eye hook on the ceiling, tight enough to keep her still but not enough that she can’t be comfortably flat footed. It looks beautiful the knot in the back is something that I feel can be described as a rose. While the front just shows two boarders that are just framing her beautiful breasts perfectly as if in a picture frame. I play with my art, I spin her around slowly mostly because I can but also to see how I want her to look in the lighting. I run my fingers along the rope, feeling how tight it is against her body. But I eventually give my master piece some relief, I let my hands wander down to her dripping desperate pussy. She lets out a noise as if its been stuck inside her waiting to be released. I play with her clit as I whisper, “You were waiting for that huh kiddo, but there’s still so much art left to make.”

I think it’s time to set a center focus, I take some lube and slowly but consistently start fingering her asshole as more close to heavy moans start to come from the gagged mouth, After I feel I have warmed her up I use a plug with a red jewel on the end into her ass. I stand back looking how absolutely beautiful she looks in this moment, she has started to drool onto her framed tits and I can’t find it much more beautiful. But I must. After a quick hand wash, I return to her body. My fingers start working on her pussy, exploring my canvas. How can I make art if I do not know my canvas inside and out. After I am satisfied with how much I know her, and she is equally unsatisfied with me stopping, I slip a remote vibrator in her and have it go on a loop of slowly going up and down in intensity.

It is time for me to use my most colorful of toys, but first a little warm up to get the canvas relaxed and full of color. I start to slap her ass with my hand as I put my other hand on her lower stomach to keep her still. After I feel she is warmed up and has stopped lifting her feet out of pain. I take my paddle and prepare to make her ass change colors to the most beautiful shade of purple. Normally I am intentional with my impact but this time, I am free and loose. I am a painter of an abstract painting letting my paint fly onto my canvas. Of course this is the loudest my art has been. She’s blissed out, constrained in a mixture of pain and pleasure. My silence adding to her objectification. I don’t see her human attributes just the pieces I can mold and manipulate.

Finally silence… I feel that the purple is the perfect color, not enough to detract from the pretty red jewel in the middle but enough to become a landscape of shifting colors that I could look at for hours. Her heavy breathing and slackness in her body shows me that she was ready to stop too, only showing a shiver when I can tell the vibrator is getting close to the top setting. “You’re not quite there yet, you haven’t been made perfect”, I reinforce her submission while giving her a symbol that she’s getting close to the end. I prepare for the next step, I am note quite done with colors but I want her in my arms. She needs to feel close to me, my art must love it’s creator, it must lust for it. That’s what ties everything together. I light a stick candle and grab my art from behind and start dripping the wax onto her breasts. The slowness of the dripping after the intensity of the spanking has tired out my art. She just lays in my neck flinching with each drip of wax as I whisper all the things that I know will turn her on confirmed by the soft moans in my ear.

Finally when I am satisfied with the way that the wax has patterned onto her, I put out the candle and admire from the front. It’s amazing, it’s intoxicating. I am glad she is blindfolded because the way that I can’t help but to stroke my cock at the sight of My Pretty Whore is embarrassing and feral. But I am not ready, I need anyone who sees my art to be engulfed as possible. It needs to be enthralling. I take a wand belt and strap it to perfectly lined up on her clit. My art is starts to moan, she needs it so bad but it’s not quite time. I then put ankle cuffs and spread her out with a spreader bar. With the way that I have tied her, she needs to be on her tippy toes to be comfortable. There is no art without pain right?

Perfect. Just Perfect. I see all of her. Her submission. Her arousal. Her exhibition. And my presence. I have never made anything as beautiful before. She needs to be admired, that is the final part of art and she is perfect to be admired. I need to study her, to watch her from all angles. It is time. I turn on the wand and sit back and enjoy what I have created.

[princesschimchim1325]

Loving her is Red (1)

Hawks, known to be the fastest hero in Japan and a man who does things his own pace. A man whose life has never been completely his, from the moment the Commission had taken him in, he never really had anything to truly call his. Hawks is the cocky, laid-back Wing Hero whom society adores and fawns over, the flawless facade no one saw through because they prefer it over Takami Keigo who came from a poor and harsh begining.

So why is it that the one person who could see past the mask, is a woman who just happen to hate the Commission?

Or in which Hawks falls in love with someone he shouldn't have. Good thing the feeling is mutual.

Warnings : Hawks is a big birb man, he acts like a bird, he courts like a bird, he has a nest, kind of hawks centric, Takami Keigo is a HUGE SIMP, cursing, HPSC bashing, Endeavor bashing. Written in Hawks' POV, 3rd POV. Mentions of abuse.

I headcanon that those with mutant quirks like Keigo are bigger in size compared to anyone else, so they are forced to take (expensive) suppressants to be smaller to look much more 'normal' and approachable. Inspired by Horus in Gods of Egypt and Hawkman from Black Adam, Keigo in his original form is bigger and much faster with talon-like nails.

The love interest/reader has female genitalia, with she/her prounouns. In this household we love thicc women, thicc thighs save lives, world hard and cold, tiddies soft and warm, implied to be a virgin. Codename is Valkryie. Implied to have a bird-related quirk. Is nicknamed Pidge (lady and the tramp style), Kid, Dove and Angel by Hawks.

(I tried to be inclusive to black readers so the fic rarely mentions the hair and skin, everyone is beautiful so synonyms of it is used alot)

Slight slow burn, pinch of angst, lots of fluff, smut, porn with plot, and they were roommates, slight enemies to lovers.

Foreplay, dom/sub, rough s*x, size difference, size kink, overstimulation, implied breeding kink, wing kink, feather kink, creampie, cum eating, cunnilingus, handjob, seasonal rut, aftercare.

Smut will be in part 2

Comments and reblogs are appreciated!! No Reposts.

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Love is an unfamiliar word for both for Hawks and Takami Keigo. Neither of Keigo's parents loved him nor did they display love for each other. The 'love' the public and his fans give him as Hawks is superficial, they only love the mask he showcases and that's it. The Commission isn't any better, they trained him to be a child soldier, a little puppet they can order around for the sake of 'peace'. His admiration for Endeavor came from the fact that his only reprieve as a child was an Endeavor plushie.

He has never known love but that's fine, as long as he does his purpose, it was fine.

♡◇♡◇♡

He'd be lying if he said he never questioned the Commission but he'd be an even bigger liar if he said he didn't know the exact moment he started crack.

On top of all his already full workload, the Commission gave him another thing to think about. An agent from Might Tower who they were planning on partnering him up with, was suddenly attacked by five armed men while coming inside her apartment. Fortunately, she was able to freeze them before they could do any real damage to her. Her neighbors heard shots being fired and quickly called the authorities. She had a few scratches and bruises but she was mostly fine.

In his defense, he did ask what did that have to do with him, to which the President replied "Like I said, she's an agent that we were going to place under your agency. She's an important asset with her skills as an analyst. However, with the sudden attempt on her life, we decided to have you always with her, to ensure such a valuable woman wouldn't get taken out too early." Apparently, they want him to act as a bodyguard for a while due to her skills and her knowledge, making her an important asset (he hates how they talk about her like she's an object that was going to be discarded after using).

it was a pretty solid story, he had no reason to be suspicious. He was ordered to escort her from her apartment, he had to divide his wings and put all his feathers in a backpack when he came to pick her up, so no one would recognize him.

When he entered her room, she was clearly no damsel in distress, considering she caught him by suprise when she attacked him. If he were any ordinary man, he would have died then and there with how fast and precise she was. However, he wasn't ordinary, so he was able to keep up with her, although in the end she was able to pin him down (which was pretty impressive).

There was a certain glint in her eyes, one he couldn't really pin-point what, that tells him that she wasn't who she says she was. He told her he was Hawks and he was there to pick her up by the order of the Commission. She didn't immediately let him go (which was fair), but with enough reassurances from him, she did got off of him and apologized. But she made it extremely clear that she didn't trust, in her words, an HPSC rascal.

Her eyes should have given him a clue.

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Hawks will admit, she was good. Obviously, she was efficient at her job, her work ethics were things to envied. She made work much easier for him and everyone involved.

No, that wasn't he meant, no, not at all. What he meant was that she new what buttons to push to get him riled up. He and Valkyrie were told that they were to share a space to work more efficiently. Which meant he was at the recieving end of her judgement of the Commission and her teasing remarks. She wasn't shy of her criticism and disapproval of the Commission's methods. Not to mention she regularly calls him 'HPSC rascal'. Hell, she gave him grief over the amount of times she saved his ass from their joint missions.

It was a juxtaposition to her serious, no-nonsense persona she shows in front of everyone. To get back at her, he started calling her 'Pidge'. At first it was just to tease her, to get a reaction out of her, but as time went on, it became a term of endearment to him for her.

But it wasn't all bad. For as much as a little sh*t she was, she was equally kind. Because they shared a house paid by the Commission, they saw each other everyday. Which made him see a much different side to her. Despite the fact that he was pretty much useless when it comes to cooking, she just shook her head and asked what are his preferences. Didn't judge him whenever his feathers were a mess, didn't question his temporary nest that was placed in the corner of his room.

However, Hawks still had a job to do. So every now and then, he would ask for a report on what she knows and gathered from her work. He also kept an eye out for her, making sure no man one does any funny business with her. Which leads him to his current predicament; seething quietly in his office as her apparent 'right-hand man' was chatting her ears off. The man was clearly obsessed with her, calling her 'Valkyrie-sama' and kept going on and on about how merciful she was. And the worst part was; she entertained the younger man.

He swears it's not because he's jealous, but the young man was just so irritating, the absolute disrespect towards him, the number #2 f**king Pro Hero.

Even when the younger man had left, Hawks can't help but notice just how much attention Valkryie gets, both from men and women. It made sense, she was beautiful and approachable, of course everyone wants her attention.

What bothered him was the fact that those who approached didn't even bother looking at her gorgeous eyes, they immediately look at her ample chest. His eye twitched when a particularly shameless man placed his disgusting hands on her shoulder, Hawks sat up a little too quickly which made his chair fall over due to the speed. Valkryie looked at him with concern while the man had flinched.

"If you don't have any further business with either of us, please see yourself out." He left no room for any complaints with how cold his glare was. The man was quick to leave his office with his tail in between his legs.

Hawks glanced at Valkryie, only to see her with a mischievous smile on her lips.

Oh, I am f**ked

♡◇♡◇♡

Seven months.

They have been living in the same house for seven months. The Commission had been on his ass, reminding him that if she seemed suspicious, he should investigate and immediately report to them.

Turns out, the other reason the Commission made them live together for a while was to keep an eye out on her, because the men that they caught that attempted to attack her said "she isn't who she says she is." Or something like that.

The thing was.... he had noticed. He noticed so he followed her one night four months ago because she hadn't returned from her 'work', and would you look at that; she was talking and having coffee..... with Twice from the league of villains.

And yet... he didn't report the incident to the HPSC. Why?

Well, because he had eavesdropped into their conversation and realized that they were just... talking, as if they were friends. Making debates just how screwed up amd corrupt the government and HPSC is, making fun of their co-workers. They were laughing and looked like they were having a good time.

So he left and went back to the apartment and pretended not to know. Pretended he didn't watch her be friends with a villain when she got back, he just greeted her like he did everytime.

Hawks can't help but wonder why he hadn't told the HPSC, but Keigo knows why he didn't.

Because he fell for her....You know, like an idiot.

Hawks did the one thing he most likely shouldn't have. Keigo fell in love with someone he shouldn't have. The HPSC would have his head if they found out. He could have done what they taught him to do, he could have ratted her out.

Instead, everytime an agent from the Commission calls him, he'd say she's clean... like a liar.

The things you do for love, right?

♡◇♡◇♡

Three months later.

They had a fight. Not for the reason he had expected.

They fought.... because he was too careless in a battle with a nomu. It made sense, spring was coming, which means his seasonal rut was coming too. He was starting to feel the signs of it.

The battle ended with the duo winning and Hawks having a gash on his left side which Pidge had to tend.

Which leaves the two of them in a rented cabin (thanks to the nice granny) in the middle of a snowy mountain just a month and a half before spring. Their fight went from him being too careless to her being friends with a villain. She had the audacity to look offended when he spilled that he knew she was friends with Twice.

He sneered, saying "You don't get to call me careless when you're out there making friends with a villain, which could get your license revoked. So tell me, Pidge, who's really careless between the two of us?"

"At the very least, I'm not a puppet who's treated like garbage despite being a loyal soldier, Hawks."

Not going to lie, that hurt. But she wasn't wrong. Lately however, he hasn't been the HPSC's loyal little lapdog, he's been lying to them for a while now.

"Oh , I wouldn't say I'm loyal, considering I haven't told them of your little 'escapade'." He can't help but sass her.

She scoffed, despite the fact that she had an amused look on her lovely face. "Why not? Why haven't you told them? That's what they taught you to do right?"

He didn't even realized what he was saying before it was too late. "Because I love you, Pidge."

Her head snapped towards him with her eyes wide. His own eyes widen when he realized what he just said.

Oh kami, what the f**k have I done? Sh*t, sh*t, sh*t, what do I do??? I can't take it back, f**k, I am the world's biggest fool, a damn idiot, fuuuuu–

"–why?"

What?

It was his turn to snap his towards her with an incredulous look on his face. She had the audacity to look flustered, "I mean, why would you disobey the Commission, the people who raised you, for someone who regularly calls you a prick and rascal?" Her eyes refused to make contact with his.

He took her fiddling hands in his much bigger and rougher hands, rubbing his thumbs over her knuckles. This made her finally look at him, to which he gave her a small but genuine smile.

"I don't think you understand, I have never, never felt so free until I met you, until I'm with you, Pidge." He chuckled, leaning towards her "You make me feel less like the child soldier the Commission raised me to be and more like a normal guy who is in love."

She looked even more flustered, "O-okay, but why do you love me? You're the number two pro-hero, you could have just about anyone, so why me?" Her tone said it all, she was unsure if he was being genuine with his confession.

"Yeah, I could but I won't. Why would I give my love and trust to someone who just see the mask and not to you; you who won't hesitate to call me out, and yet you treat me like you would anyone else? How can I not fall in in love with you, when you don't judge me whenever my 'perfect' mask slips? Whenever I'm pissed and tired, you'll ask me to talk about my day instead of telling me to just suck it up. You don't expect me to act perfect all the time, and I love you for it. You are evrything I've dreamed of and more."

It wasn't the man who the Commission raised was confessing, it was Keigo. Takami Keigo who never thought he'd fall in love but always longed it. Hawks who threw away his identity for the HPSC to become a pro hero like Endeavor, suddenly became Keigo again.

She giggled despite the fact that her lovely eyes were welled up with unshed tears, "How can't I be fond of you when you are such a silly bird? Whenever your hair was a mess, it made you seem more normal and not the fabricated image you show to the public. Honestly, you are so weird but I guess you're my weird bird, huh?"

"True, but you shouldn't go saying things like that, it's dangerous." He shook his head while fondly smiling at her.

She tilted her head, "Like what? Why?"

"Calling me your weird bird, it's dangerous because most raptors mate for life. Do you know what that means for me?"

"....ah."

"I'm more like a bird than the public would like to admit. " He shook his head just thinking about how the public always denied him being more bird-like.

"...I don't want to seem nosy, but does that mean you go through a rut?" She softly asked him.

His bushy eyebrows furrowed at how accurate she was. How–?

"How-what gave me away?"

"Well, you said it yourself, you are more bird-like than the public would like admit, honey." The nickname made him think of them in a domestic setting. He should probably focus at the topic at hand.

"Yeah, I go through a rut every spring for about two weeks."

"Well, it is pretty normal isn't it? Most people with quirk like yours have that effect on them, I'm not exempted from it either but it's milder for me." She nonchalantly explained. Of course, her quirk was a transformation type not a mutation, so the effect on her was different.

There she goes again, being attentive to him. How can he not fall for her?

"Yeah, the upcoming weeks leading up to my rut will be hell."

"I see, that makes sense. It's probably very difficult for you to do without a partner."

The two of them were quiet for a few minutes.

Ah, f**k it.

"Takami Keigo." He blurted out. She looked at him with confusion written all over her pretty face.

This was so awkward but very necessary if he wants the relationship to work out. (At least, that's what his handler said. Thankfully, his handler was secretly going against the HPSC, so he wasn't too worried.)

"It's my name, I-I just wanted you to know." No one, absolutely no one besides the commission knew his name. He was going against every single thing the HPSC taught him and yet he couldn't find it in himself to regret it.

She nodded and confessed her own name.

"Can I say your name? Just once, please?"

Well, what was he supposed to say? No? Of course not.

"Yeah sure, just don't say it out loud whenever we're in public or with people we can't trust, yeah?" He couldn't afford to endanger her more than she already was, so they'll have to pretend to be just friends whenever they're in public. A small price to pay if he was being honest.

"Keigo..." why did he like his name being said by her? Was this what they called being 'down bad'?

"Again..."

"Keigo."

"Again."

"Keigo."

Hawks–no, Keigo lifted his large and calloused hand to cup her warm cheek. "May I–?"

She smiled and nodded, "So chivalrous, of course you may."

He chuckled before he closed the distance between them.

Despite the fact that they were in a secluded cabin, sharing one futon while it was cold outside, nothing felt more perfect.

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[reblogandlikes]

I will continue to shout this. Miss girlboss has an empty title! She's a figurehead that no one in the NC outside Velaris cares about, nor truly respects. Hell, they don't even respect Rhysand, so they certainly dont give two shits about her, expecially with her introduction to the CoN which was crass, unnecessary and made to be viewed as an object that their HL was bending over; not an equal.

The magic didn't choose her. Her mate did. Now, if that mate of her dies for real, the magic, as it has always done, will go to the next ruler. And then what? She's gonna be standing there looking dumb with all the authority she supposedly has, stripped.

Tamlin simply stated a fact of the land. There has been no High Lady recorded in their history (Queen Theia lore added in CC3 slightly alters that now, I guess...maybe? Either way, it's not public knowledge anymore 🤔).

Feyre had more credibility, importance, and reverence for being Feyre Cursebreaker. That's something she did (with aid along the way, but still) and then Tamlin killed Amarantha without hesitation. She could have earned political standing and then training of her own. Above the High Priestess status, but still below HL's as everyone else is.

She didn't have to be the one in "power" to be classed as important, but because she's the MC, she just has to be the beat of the best and defeat all odds without no form of repercussions, whilst simultaneously morphing into tradwife and baby maker she was so against with Tamlin (even if he expected none of that to begin with. He just wanted the woman he loved to rest and got fucked over for it)

Not the biggest Feyre lover since book 1, but she's had her moments, I can easily admit, and yet she could have been so much more and been more complex and displayed her naivity and growth, while showing why she should be a ruler...not just a fighter.

But this is a YA/NAish book about Fae with big dicks, gaslighting/Stockholm syndrome with a self insert MC and poor mental health representation.

Acotar as a dark romance would slap!

What would’ve been a real serve is if the land/Mother/whoever tf decides who becomes High Lord would have actually made Feyre High Lady.

Because right now, it’s nothing but a name. There’s nothing to back it up besides Rhys saying so. But if she was actually chosen, then even Rhys himself wouldn’t be able to question it. I also don’t think Rhys giving her that title makes him a feminist king. It feels more like a manipulative tool than anything but I digress.

Idk I just don’t care very much for the ultimate girl boss move when a man had to give her that title. And in reality…her status doesn’t particularly stand on any solid ground. The High Lords aren’t High Lords because they just decided to be. It all depends on who the power goes to. Even Feyre’s magic wasn’t given to her by some higher power (although I do think she deserves to have those powers since she saved them…but that doesn’t make her High Lady material).

Vivianne led the Winter Court for fifty years, and still wasn’t made High Lady…because the power didn’t go to her. She wasn’t chosen. That’s likeeee kinda the whole point of having High Lords. It’s not something that’s voted on or given to them, it’s chosen for them. By something much larger than any of them.

I feel like we often see that Feyre and Rhysand are not on equal ground. No matter what Feyre says, Rhysand’s vote will always trump her own. The Inner Circle will always choose Rhysand over her. They are not equals, in any way. And I am tired of being gaslit into believing so.

ALSO, I don’t think Tamlin being blunt and saying “There are no High Ladies” is sexist. He spoke facts and I refuse to be mad at him for not dangling a fake title in front of Feyre’s face that truly doesn’t mean much of anything when you actually think about it for more than five seconds.

[axwalker]

Jealousy--One Shot

Book: The Royal Romance, Book 2. Engagement Tour. 

Pairing: Drake Walker x Alexis O’Brien (MC) 

WORDS: I’m using my WD golden ticket so 3,000 words. 

POV: Dual 

TRIGGER WARNINGS: SMUT!! 🍋🍋🍋 A very frustrating Drake and Alexis.  

ALL MY FICS ARE +18 !!!! 

I’m participating in the  @wackydrabbles​   prompts. This week’s prompt is “I can’t do this anymore.” 

I apologize for any grammatical errors.   

Tags in the comments ;) 

DRAKE

Standing next to my window, I admire the Roman ruins of the Palatine hills as the royal train rolls into Rome. I’ve always loved Italy, but something about this trip is getting to me. It might be the woman occupying the cabin next to mine. It might be the fact that my best friend is almost as crazy about her as I am. Almost. He can’t possibly care for her the way I do. I down the rest of my glass and pick up a simple shirt and a pair of pants for tonight’s banquet. Fuck the black tie.

Since O’Brien came back to court, I tried to avoid her as much as I could. As a result, I’d cut off a leg tonight just to lay eyes on her again. I crave her like a drug. I spent the last few days debating with myself, and each day I grow a little more desperate, my arguments growing wilder and less probable by the minute. “Maybe” is how every single thought began, each one borne of desperation. Maybe I can make Liam understand that I’m crazy about the woman he loves. Maybe he’ll understand that I’ve been lying for months. Maybe Alexis will realize that she wants a quiet life with me. It’s a weakness on my part; I just need to get through this banquet without giving into it.

Thank God there’s a bar. I’m going to need something to make this experience tolerable. I grab a whiskey and drink half of it before I even head to my table. I’m halfway there when my eyes meet Kiara’s. She’s been leaving me flirty messages since we built the barn to celebrate Liam’s engagement. She’s a beautiful and smart woman but I couldn’t be less interested. 

“Come with me,” she says, pulling at my elbow. “I saved you a seat.” 

At that very moment, Lexie walks in. She’s wearing a red silk dress that matches her lips, pours over her curves, and reveals only a hint of cleavage while allowing you to imagine what you can’t see too fucking easily. Her hair falls over her shoulders and down her back, highlighting her long neck and her gorgeous face. As always, I seem to settle on her mouth. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen her wear red lipstick before, and, for some reason, this opens an entire box of fantasies. I want to see it soiled. To kiss her so hard that neither of us can breathe. To pull back and find that mouth ajar, panting, the lipstick a red blur around the edges., I want it so badly I’m not sure how I’ll get through the goddamn night without having it. My hands sliding that silk dress over her head, learning every inch of her the way I’ve dreamed about for months. Except right now, Lexie’s eyes are fixed on the point where Kiara’s arm is linked with mine, and her expression—sad and wounded—is like a knife to my chest. I step away from Kiara, grabbing my drink and draining it. “I’m sitting with Maxwell and Olivia,” I tell her firmly. 

 “Doesn’t Lexie look gorgeous?” Max asks. My eyes move across the room again. Her red dress shimmers, sticks on her curves. `

“She looks like she needs more clothes,” I complain. 

“Olivia helped her choose that dress,” Max says with a brow arched. “It fits her like a glove.” 

“Yeah,” I reply. “That’s sort of the problem.” 

My gaze is still on her, though. Moving up from her hips to her waist to her breasts, back up to that mouth of hers. I picture it again; the lipstick smeared, her breathless under me. And then a single hand cups her hip bone, visible through the thin silk, and I’m ejected from my fantasy at high speed. My lust transforms into rage in a single breath. Fucking Signore Francesco Lombardi. When everyone finally takes their seats, I discover that she and Francesco are at the table on the other side of mine, giving me a painfully direct view of the two of them. Whenever she stands, his eyes are on her, devouring her. He paws at her when she returns, jumping to pull out her chair but managing to get his fucking hands over approximately sixty percent of her body when he does it. And if he tries to look down her dress one more time, I’m definitely taking him out. I don’t give a fuck about our diplomatic relationships with Italy. I go to the bar again and ask for another glass of Macallan. Tonight it’s either get drunk or completely lose my shit in front of hundreds of witnesses. Pretentious food and great speeches are given out that I don’t notice. She is more real to me than anything in this room or out of it, the only thing I can see. No one knows her fears like I do. No one knows how fragile she really is, how deeply sweet. How funny and smart and kind. But I know. And for all the fighting we’ve done, there aren’t two people in this room as made for each other as the two of us. My world is constructed entirely of rules about what I owe Liam –my education, my career, and so many other things. But somehow, it excludes the only thing that matters to me. Her. If it weren’t for how Liam feels about her, she’d be here with me tonight. I watch her say something to Liam, and he nods, his eyes telling her how he feels. Jealousy runs through my veins. 

 “Enough,” I say quietly as I stand. I don’t know what possesses me to follow her. I know, with every bone in my body, that I have no claim on her. But I saw that look in Liam’s eyes, the one that says he’ll do anything for her, and I found myself on my feet. She’s halfway down the hall by the time I reach her. She looks over her shoulder warily when she hears me, but she is too late. I’m already there. I grab her elbow before she has time to react and pull her into an empty office. She stiffens and pulls back, ready as always to fight. Eyes flashing and hands on her hips. Seething before I’ve even said a word. “You have no right to—” That’s when I cup her jaw and capture that mouth I’ve longed for the whole goddamn night.

ALEXIS 

 His mouth comes down on mine, demolishing my pathetic attempt to object. He seizes it thoroughly, with such certainty, as if he’s spent his entire life practicing for this precise moment. His hands raking back through my hair, his tongue finding mine as he presses against me. His mouth moves over my neck, and he groans, a noise of both despair and satisfaction. 

“You didn’t want me a week ago, but now you do?” I start to push back, but he holds me tight against him. 

“I just don’t want you stuck in a shitty ranch with a poor veterinarian when it all ends. It was never about not wanting you.” I know there are other reasons why I’m supposed to object, but they escape me. I’ve wanted this too long, his hands on my body, my skin pressed against his, and his mouth creating a trail of kisses down my neck. It’s right. I’ve known nothing in my life with such certainty as the fact that nothing in the world matters more to me. His hands move from my hips to my breasts, and then he pulls one strap of my dress down, trailing slow, open-mouthed kisses over my shoulder and collarbone, almost reverently. Nipping with his teeth and soothing it with his tongue. He pulls the dress down to my waist, unclasps my bra with a single hand. He cups my breasts, bringing his mouth to them in the same way, sharp and sweet at once and creating a need in me so intense that it borders on pain. I gasp and arch toward him, submitting entirely as my head falls backward against the wall. He pulls back just enough to see my face. His chocolate eyes are dark now as he searches mine, looking there for something he desperately needs. Permission. He wants permission. As if I’d ever tell him no. 

“Yes,” I whisper. “Please.” 

“You’re sure?” His voice is gruff with desire. And when I nod, he pushes the dress over my hips and allows it to slide to the floor. His hands follow, skating over my hips, down my thighs, and I stand before him now in nothing but panties and heels. “That fucking dress nearly killed me,” he says, smoothing my skin as he kisses me again. He pushes against me, his shirt against my bare skin, his erection pressed hard to my stomach, a quick pulse there as if he is desperate for friction. He slides his index finger under the elastic of my panties. The moment he touches me, my whole body jolts. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. “You’re already soaked.” His finger slips back and forth, lightly, in torturous circles before it pushes inside me. 

“Oh God,” I whisper, my body bowing toward him. He adds a second finger, and this time his groan is louder than mine. 

“Jesus, Lex,” he growls. “You’re going to be the end of me.” 

I unclasp his belt and unzip his pants reaching down to pull him from the confines of his boxers. He is thick and heavy in my hands, hissing as my fingers wrap around him, tugging gently. 

“Stop,” he exhales after a minute. “I’m not gonna last if you do that, and there are so many things I want to do to you first.” 

He pushes my panties down and lifts me up almost simultaneously, turning to deposit me on the table behind us. He kisses me once, hard. “Lie back,” he commands. He drops to his knees, spreading my legs so I’m displayed before him. Suddenly, his fingers are joined by quick swipes of his tongue. 

“Oh my God,” I gasp. “Drake … just—”

 His mouth and tongue lick and brush and pull, creating flames that begin there and spread all the way to my toes. I try to move, but his free hand clamps down on my thigh, holding me in place. 

“I’ve dreamed about doing this every goddamn night for months, Alexis. So let me.” 

I can’t even nod in agreement because suddenly, everything inside me is building so quickly that I can’t tell where I am or where I’m going. 

“Oh,” I gasp. And then his fingers push inside me and I explode with a cry of ecstasy and surprise, arching against his mouth. He doesn’t pull back, but instead slides his hands beneath my legs and tugs me closer, buries his face to create wave after wave of something I never thought would happen in the first place. 

“Holy shit,” I breathe. He leans over to kiss me and when he does, I wrap my legs around his waist, bringing him against me so suddenly that he gasps in my mouth. 

“Lexie,” he groans. 

“Please,” I whisper. It seems impossible for anyone to be more satisfied than I am now, yet I still need the very thing Drake wants most, the thing he is so sure he shouldn’t give. He looks tortured and pulls back, but I tighten around him, pressing him against me. “Don’t even think about stopping right now.” He shifts his hips just enough that he is pressing right there, not inside me but mere seconds away from it. In a single pulse, he could be buried deep inside me. 

“Is this okay?” he asks, his voice tight. “Do we need …” 

“No,” I beg. “Just do it. I’m on the pill.”

He pushes in, barely. He’s so thick that already I’m stretched to the point of pain. 

“Oh fuck, Lexie,” he whispers. “God, that’s so good. Just give me a minute, or this is going to be over before it starts.” 

Finally, he moves once more, going slowly, a low noise deep in his chest as he finally shoves all the way in. 

“Are you okay?” he asks between clenched teeth. I nod as I adjust to the size of him, pain still outweighing the pleasure. It’s when he starts to withdraw that the pain recedes as a burst of pleasure sucks the air from my lungs. It feels too good, something so vast and all-consuming it can’t possibly end well. I never finish this way but oh my God… If it were ever going to happen, it would be now. His next thrust is faster, more certain, but he stops entirely at my sharp inhale. “Did I hurt you, baby?” he asks. 

“No.” He didn’t hurt me. He stunned me. His strokes come slow and rhythmic then, as he leans over, finding my mouth with the table bracing his weight, his arms taut. “I’ve wanted this for so fucking long,” he says, holding still inside me. 

“Keep going,” I beg. “Don’t stop.” 

“Patience,” he grins. “You have no idea how hard it is not to come right now.” 

I grab his ass and push upward, ignoring his warning, thrilling at the low grunt he makes. “Alexis,” he growls, “goddammit.” 

His hips jerk back and then forward, almost involuntarily. It’s all I need. I cry out as it happens again, everything inside me bursting. He thrusts quick and hard, desperate now, and then stiffens with a single guttural noise as he pushes in one final time. He falls against me, his mouth against my neck, his breath warm on my skin. It’s closer than I’ve ever been to another person, and I would like to stay here, just like this, forever. But after a moment, I open my eyes when I realize what we’ve done. 

It’s a little like waking from a dream. What the fuck have I done? The best sex I’ve ever had and the biggest mistake I’ve ever made just occurred simultaneously. The guilt and astonishment collide with each other. It was wrong. No matter what other considerations there are, I just slept with Liam’s best friend.

I know I don’t owe Liam anything. I came to Cordonia to see if there was something between us beyond that kiss in New York, and there wasn’t. He’s engaged to Madeleine and I’m hopelessly in love with his best friend. Bu this isn’t about me. This is about Drake. 

I just became that woman. The kind of woman that would stand between two brothers. The type of woman capable of breaking a lifelong friendship in a moment of lust. 

I know that sooner or later, Drake will resent me, us, if he loses Liam. Somewhere inside, I knew that, but because I wanted him and was jealous of Kiara, I chose to ignore it. He looks up at me, and his smile fades. 

“What are you thinking?” he asks. There’s dread in his voice. His jaw hardens. “You regret it.” 

“Drake,” I sigh, nestling in his chest. “It’s not that. It was…amazing. I just need to figure this out.” 

“Figure what out?” 

I bury my face in his neck. I don’t want to be having this conversation with him. I wish there was a way he could just hold me and take me to his cabin and work this all out on my own later. But there’s not. “What happens next. I mean, it shouldn’t have happened. We both know that. Liam… “

“No,” he snaps, pulling away. “Do not bring him up. Are you really going to let the way it might look to everyone outside this room dictate whether or not it’s okay? This is about us, Lexie. No one else.” 

Except it’s not everyone outside this room. It’s him. Until a week ago, Drake was determined to push me away. He didn’t want to betray his best friend. He told me over and over again that he wasn’t that kind of man. That he would never forgive himself. 

I let my need obliterate every reasonable thought, as usual. And in doing so, I’ve let myself down and—far worse—I may have put Drake’s friendship with Liam at risk. I pull away and grab my dress and bra off the floor. 

“We have to get back out there before someone notices we’re gone.” 

He buttons his shirt. “So you want to go back and continue flirting with Liam like this didn’t just happen?” he asks.

.

It’s right then, at that precise moment, that I realize that no matter what happens, Drake and I will never be together. Liam will always be there, between us. Right now, in our post-orgasmic bliss, Drake is not thinking straight, but I know what he will be telling me tomorrow morning. Or at least how he will be feeling. Guilty. 

“I can’t do this anymore.” I take a deep breath to calm myself. “So what matters most is that we both get through the banquet like nothing happened.” 

“And then what?” He growls.

His anger doesn’t scare me. “Can we please just get through the next hour?” I ask. “Liam is out there. Olivia, Max, Kiara are out there. The most important thing either of us can do right now is to act like nothing’s wrong.” 

He fastens his belt and moves to the door, his jaw rigid. He’s doing what I asked, but I hate that he’s leaving mad. I’m doing this for him. I don’t want him to lose the only relationship in his life that matters to him. “Drake, wait—” 

 “For what?” he demands. “I just fucked you on a table, and now you’re sending me on my way. What more could you possibly need to add to that?” With those parting words, he crosses the door and walks out, leaving me heartbroken. 

[morgana-ren]

Pale Imitation

The front page of any porn site is always a marriage of humorous and disturbing, but he can honestly say he wasn’t expecting to see his name at the top of any list that had a direct connection to satiating someone’s libido, yet there it was, plain as day on the top ten.

He didn’t think of himself as particularly narcissistic, but this he had to see.

Rating: E

Warnings: Porn, Masturbation, Yandere, Stalker Shigaraki, Shigaraki is a total creep, Rough sex, Noncon Fantasy/Roleplay

Preemptive Note: Before you continue I just want to note: I'm not a sex worker but I have nothing but the highest regard and respect for them. What ensues in this story is pure kink and fantasy and is not meant to reinforce any harmful/mean stereotypes what so ever. My personal fantasy is degradation and I can't really seem to get off without it so it's a majority of what I write, but I swear to you it was not written with the intent to insult or hurt anyone in the profession! I realize the hardships endured by the men/women/NB/GN in the adult sex work profession and this is just intended to be a pure sexual fantasy and is by no means attempting to reinforce or normalize toxic behaviors in the workplace.

Bad wig? Check .

Poor voice imitation? Check .

Shoddy, unsealed makeup that sloughs off onto the unfortunate scene partner’s skin? Check .

All the tell-tale signs of a bad porno but with one distinct peculiarity that drew his interest.

You know, this certainly wasn’t what he was expecting to see when he settled in for his first nightly wank. The front page of any porn site is always a marriage of humorous and disturbing, but he can honestly say he wasn’t expecting to see his name at the top of any list that had a direct connection to satiating someone’s libido, yet there it was, plain as day on the top ten.

He’s no stranger to the villain kink page. Tons of civilians indulged in their darker fantasies through their nighttime excursions below their pantyline, and being a villain himself, naturally he was curious. Most of it is about what he’d expect. Villains, ancient and new, participating in copulation of all sorts. Some of it is that extremely out of character slow and romantic pornography. Other times, strangely enough, it’s the villains themselves getting taken advantage of. Sometimes by heroes, other times by random people, objects, or even tentacles. It’s interesting, to say the least.

Him though? He’d never seen himself in one, let alone being featured on the front page.

Up until recently, the media and all it’s sinful offshoots had opted to ignore him. However, his recent exploits must’ve caught the attention of the general public, and alongside it, the licentious denizens that dwell within. There had been a few forum posts, a little fan art (most of it flattering), and even a few oddly obsessive fangirls he’d come across. But this? Oh, now this was a whole new caliber.

He didn’t think of himself as particularly narcissistic, but this he had to see.

The guy they’d hired to play him was naturally a flat disappointment; Too bulky, and way too short. He could tell there was a classically handsome man underneath all that poorly done makeup that was meant to make him look pallid and dry. A sad, pathetic, and pale imitation of the real thing, missing some of his scars and moles entirely. The ashy gray wig they used to try to mimic his shaggy, unkempt hair had an awkward cowlick and kept flopping down too far on the actor’s forehead and looked far more dead than even his own unwashed mop. The voice he was using to mimic him was strained and scratchy, far too forced to be comfortable or even remotely realistic. If he had to place it, it sounded like the guy already had a terribly sore throat and had continued yelling for several hours to achieve the ‘desired’ effect.

He hadn’t expected much, but it was still disappointing. Though to be fair, they nailed the clothing, minus the brand of shoes he wears and the exact coat he’d chosen as his signature.

A part of him was ready to shut it off. Whatever lies ahead could only be utterly insulting, right? This grotesque pastiche lifelessly parroting his mannerisms was already curbing his sexual appetite toward something more violent, and not in the way he liked. Yet, out of sheer curiosity, he kept watching. What exactly did the average screenwriting porn cinematographer think he was into anyway?

It was a little ambiguous at first. At least until the shaky camera followed the Walmart brand Shigaraki knock-off down a generic hallway and into a borderline barren room, bringing into frame a quaking young woman tied up on a filthy mattress. After that, it became very quickly apparent just what type of smut he’d stumbled onto.

The camera zooms in on her face, tears leaking from her eyes and leaving trails of thick black makeup and mascara trailing down her cheeks, her begging and pleading muffled by a rag hastily stuffed in her mouth and secured with what appeared to be a bandana tied around her head. She’s clad in nothing but a flimsy tank top with the straps yanked down over her shoulders and a small pair of lace panties, covered in what appears to be made up lacerations and fake bruising. A nice touch, he notes.

He’ll admit, he’s intrigued now. It looks like they got one thing about him right, perhaps two now that he inspects the adult actress hired to play his unfortunate victim. She’s flattering, far more flattering than he expected given the low budget circumstances. Her watery eyes and quaking body coupled with the slight rope burn embedding into her chafing skin is enough to get his legs stirring and his pants tightening. She looks so pretty, so vulnerable behind all the waterworks and thick stage makeup. He thinks, just maybe, he might be able to get into this if he hyper focuses on her.

As his imposter approaches, she pushes her bound legs out, squishing herself back against the wall and as far away as she can manage from the threat encroaching on her personal space.

“Heroes can’t save you now.”

The shallow mockery of his voice grates at his ears, but he’ll admit the comment is on brand. The actor harshly yanks the bandana out of the woman’s mouth, her pouty lips trembling as she begins to grovel, blinking more tears down her swollen cheeks.

“I-I’m sorry! Please just let me go! I won’t tell anyone anything!”

All things considered, she’s convincing enough to get his blood pumping. Tomura readjusts himself in his chair, reaching his hands beneath the band of his sweatpants. If he can ignore her counterpart, he thinks watching her squirm and squeal will get him off. After all, it’s supposed to be ‘him’ violating this cute girl. Maybe if he defocuses his eyes enough, he can pretend it really is.

“I’m going to show you how much of a villain I really am!”

Ugh . Whoever wrote this dialogue clearly had never met him, or probably any real villain for that matter. It’s enough to make him want to retch, but the feel of his own hand on his cock and the soft whimpering of the actress  as the villain stand-in strips off his coat brings him back and makes him throb. The camera moves in to offer her a close up, face dropping and eyes widening in horror as she comes to the “realization” of what he means.

“No! Please! Anything but that!”

She kicks at him, trying to fend him off with bound limbs as he crawls over her onto the bed. A harsh slap to the side of her cheek is enough to quiet her down and allow the assailant to cage her to the bed with one hand, the other clumsily fumbling with the buttons of his jeans. After he shimmies his ill fitting skinny jeans down his thighs, she looks at him with eyes widened in horror, shaking her head erratically.

“No! Please Mister Shigaraki, it’s too big! It won’t fit!”

A hand far too burly to be his wraps around her neck, pointer finger plucked awkwardly upward. “Quiet! You’re my prisoner and you’ll do as I say!”

Just ignore it.

The free hand goes to grab at her tank top, a brief but noticeable pause in the filming leaves her topless with stage prop ash sprinkled along her torso, the ropes around her wiggling legs conveniently gone now. While the cinematic effect was laughably bad, Tomura can’t bring himself to care. Not when her tits are now on display for him to ogle.

Chest bare and heaving, perfect nipples perked to attention just for him. Smooth, creamy skin goose pimpled and tender, so tempting that he's aching to feel her. A quick swipe of his thumb over his sensitive, spongy tip elicits a rumbled groan from deep in his chest. It’s easier now to ignore the shitty portrayal of himself, especially when he can lose himself to the throes of lust and pretend that it actually is his hands wrapped around her little throat, other fingers drifting lower and lower down her trembling belly.

A quick hook around the seam of her panties and they’re ripped clean from her hips, legs splayed and leaving her pussy center frame, already wet and glistening. He swallows hard, the sight enough to make him salivate. She fumbles around beneath him, desperate to buck him off, but it’s to no avail. Fingers, his fingers, tease the entrance to her tight little hole, slipping one finger, and then two inside, oscillating in and out preparing her to take all of him. Just like she said, he’s so big. He doesn’t want to hurt her, not like that.

After that, it’s all too easy for him to slip into his fantasy. He strokes his cock in tandem with the pumping of the fingers, pausing only briefly as the girl mewls as the fingers slip out and the tip of his cock is aligned with her little entrance. He pistons his own hips as it slams inside, head reeling back on the edge of his chair.

The high pitched whine that escapes her throat as the fake buries himself deep inside has him biting his lip, slowing his hand by force on his shaft. Fuck, even her moans are hot. Her bouncing tits and staggered breathing as his imposter rails into her has him enraptured. The subtle way she leans into the hand on her throat, back arched off the filthy mattress, face expressing clear distress but body betraying her clever act.

It matters little that she’s being paid to partake in the scene with ‘him’. The fact she was open to it says more than he could have hoped to know, and clearly she’s enjoying the treatment. His hazy eyes focus in on her face, working his hand harder with every little nuance she gifts him. The twitch of arms as her nails imbed themselves into her palms, the parting of her moist lips. He’d be willing to bet her tongue could work magic, taking him all the way to the back of her throat. God, she’d look so cute like that. Hands tied behind her back, a sloppy, drooling mess around his dick.

“S-Shigaraki! You’re too rough!”

The hand clamped around her throat tightens, her final word more of a croak.

“You like it, you little slut!”

At least there’s one thing him and this mediocre porn actor can agree on; she certainly does like it. Rolling her hips against him and wailing in a way that has him wonderfully immersed in his fantasy. Hearing his name on those sighs only strengthen his hold, he can practically feel the warmth of her skin, indulge himself in the wet, clenching tightness of her cunt.

It’s fucking insulting that this trash gets to wear his skin, steal his countenance to fuck her. It should be him. If this whelp could get her all hot and bothered, just imagining what the real thing could do sends the remaining blood reserves rushing between his thighs, prick pulsing even harder in his palm. Yeah, he could get this little bitch squealing. She’d fucking like it too, judging by the look on her face as she gets plowed by a man wearing his visage.

Oh, he’d make her scream. Leave real bruising in place of that cheap costume makeup they’d so lazily applied to her naked form. Truth be told, the video itself was rather boring. He’d only kept watching because of how enraptured he was with the little witch being stuffed full of cock by his imitation. He’d never really been taken with an adult actress before but this one? Oh yes, he could really get into her.

He wasn’t sure what it was about her. So pretty to him, so deliciously pliable, so completely worked up about a villain using her as a toy, pumping in and out of her warm little pussy until he fills her with his hot cum and she’s overflowing with every fluid thrust. Sweet, sensitive neck exposed just for him to bite and abuse. Face stained with tears, puffy cheeks just aching to be squeezed and smacked. Probably tastes like rapture, eager to swallow whatever he decides to spill into her mouth.

And she could take it. He just knows it. Bent over for him, any hole he pleases free for him to use, hand-shaped welts raising on the swell of her ass. Fingers fisting her hair and arching that cute face back to look directly at him as he spits between her open and waiting lips. She’d swallow it like a good girl, just like a good girl, he knows she would.

He works himself faster, his own breathy whines joining the cacophony of licentiousness that echoes in his eardrums. His imagination shifts into overdrive, clumsy, irregular strokes of his hand tenting and deflating the crotch of his sweats. Soft, pillowy tits bulging through his fingertips as he kneads them, sucking on those tender nipples until they harden just for him. Fucking her mouth until her lips are swollen and red, face covered in a mixture of drool and cum with lipstick smeared around her cheeks. Legs locked around his narrow waist as he slams into her repeatedly, chanting his name and begging him incoherently not to stop, never to stop.

“P-please don’t cum inside me! Please- I-“

Oh, he’d cum deep inside. He’ll cum anywhere he wants on his little whore until it’s slick and dripping. He’ll tie her up, smudging it across her broken expression and let it dry nice and thick. Slip his cum covered thumb into her mouth and then ignore her until her thighs are grinding together and she’s begging for his thick cock again, any way he wants her.

Fuck- fuck she’d love it too. Ride him until each slap of her ass on his bony hips made his cock punch hard against her cervix, crying in pleasure and pain but never stopping until he allowed her. Dig his nails into her back, his teeth into her flesh and mark her up real good, let everyone who sees her know just what she’s been up to with him-

“Shigaraki! Fuck! Shi-Shigaraki!”

His name spills from her lips in a needy sob, voice cracking and so utterly genuine that it sends him over the edge. His cock throbs and stutters in his hand, shooting jets of sticky white seed all over the inside of his black sweat pants and staining his fingers. His entire body shudders, legs stiffening and balls tightening and clenching as his cum spills in fat ropes across the fabric. Try as he might to focus on her face as she cums for him, he simply can’t, eyes slamming shut and mouth left agape as a strangled cry erupts from his throat.

He gives a few subconscious pumps into his hand as searing pleasure crackles through his body, toes curling in his shoes as his lower body lifts off the chair to chase his high. Millions of images flash across his mind, the foremost of which is her, greedy eyes hungry for pleasure only he can give her, silky cunt milking him eagerly. A jagged tooth bites a little too hard into his blistered lip, enough to crack it open but he’s too submerged in bliss to notice. The only thing he can feel is her.

His thighs tremble as his body falls back down into the worn computer chair, orgasm leaving his entire body feeling weak and drained.  His breath comes in heaves, gulping down air as he tries his best to shake off the residual searing pleasure so hot it almost hurts. Overstimulation looms on the horizon and his heavy eyes drift open, feeling so drowsy now he can hardly keep them apart. The orange bar at the bottom of the video is all the way to the right, the video having concluded itself.

He’s never cum so hard in his life.

Her name. He needed to know her name. He needed to know everything .

He doesn’t bother reaching for the tissues. He simply withdraws his hand from his waistband, wiping his mess onto the knee of his pant leg before grabbing his mouse and scouring the page for any crumb of information he can find. The comments, while amusing, are hardly helpful.

So hot xx thanks

Who’s the guy even supposed to be?

This babe is so hot, luv her stuff everytime

Yall r gunna get rekt when he sees this shit lol

any sexy girls wanna reenact this with me? Hmu

I’m a girl and I love this!

Wish he’d do that to me <.<

He’d dwell on all of that later. For now, he settles for a quick search through the uploader’s account. It’s a small studio, only a few films out to date, most of which revolve around taboo relationships between villains and society. Following a hyperlink to their main website leads him to bio, complete with her stage name and picture, and even another link leading to an interview with a small time adult magazine, an article called “Cum to the Dark Side” that he bookmarks for later reading.

Even post-cum, she’s just as beautiful. Enchanting, sultry smile and cheeky little expression in her picture. Maybe it’s fate that he stumbled upon her. Maybe she really was just that good at acting and she didn’t have a thing for him at all. Either way, he wants some time with the talent. For research, of course.

Her personal details, as expected, are hidden. They go the lengths to protect their employees it seems. What isn’t hidden, however, is the studio’s number.

He thinks he can work with that.

[isolaradiale]

The small 'ahem' and the dimming lights brought the attention of the closing party back on the podium. On it was Janus, looking a great deal better than he was a few minutes ago (when he was practicing his closing speech on a statue when he thought nobody was looking.) On the stage, he took a deep breath and brightened as everyone turned in their formal evening attire.

"Thank you all for coming to the Closing Party. It's been a pretty busy week, and all of you have made such beautiful and wonderous pieces of art. I'm overjoyed that they're on display tonight, and I thought there wasn't any way to view all of them in the span of a couple hours. So this last night of the museum will be going on until the sun rises again. You don't have to stay the entire time, but--"

"Well, sure they do!"

The interjection startled the AI at the podium, and he jumped a few feet from his spot. The chipper voice started again as one of the other statues on the stage moved, revealing the form of a marble-sculpted woman covered in holographic stickers.

"After all, each and every one of you put in so much effort into bringing your imaginations and inspirations to life, haven't you? So we thought we might return the favor, that's all. And you're all invited!"

Punctuating her statement was the sound of the large wooden doors, now slamming shut inward with a reverberating BOOM that bounced off all the halls of the lobby, even from the auditorium.

"I hope you all put everything into your masterpieces! Because your masterpieces will put everything into annihilating all of you~"

With another delighted laugh, the lights in the auditorium shut off, leaving everyone with only the light of their phones and watches. And as the murmurs began and hands reached for other hands in the dark, there was another THUNK near the wall as a framed portrait fell off its anchor. From its canvas, it began to look at the crowd, eyes now glowing in the light of everyone's flashlights. One hand crawled out of the frame, then another. Nails sank into the floor with terrifying ease as the subject of the portrait pulled themselves from its frame, marble cracking at its fingertips.

The next sound was a scream, and the sound of a woman falling onto the floor as the portrait pulled at her ankles. And then another. And another still as the frames began to move off the walls en masse, attacking anyone unlucky enough to be in their sights. There was a panic in the auditorium as people tried to flee and fight, falling over each other to escape the room

But it seemed that no matter where anyone chose to run to, or where they thought to hide, there was always something in the shadows.

Waiting.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Welcome to Part Two of the event!

As stated, the artwork in the Tempus Museum has come to life--literally, in this case. You've been challenged to survive until the next sunrise. To do so, you must evade, capture or destroy the horrific objects that have come to life.

Most of the artwork in the museum is hostile, and will attempt to un-alive your characters as best they can.

These generic museum monsters can be found everywhere wandering around, but are more common in areas they originated from:

Subjects and people in paintings will crawl out of their canvases to chase and eliminate anything they see moving. Their sharp nails can pierce through marble, so flesh and bone is probably nothing to them. Humanoids are not exclusive to this class of monster--painted animals, creatures and other things will also hop out of paintings to come after your muse. You can capture a painting monster by smacking it with a canvas, or destroy it with paint thinner (or water, if it's a watercolor)

Framed sketches will behave similarly to the painting monsters, and will leave lots of thin scratches as opposed to big ones. Capture them with paper, or destroy them by rubbing them with an eraser.

Statues of any material will chase your characters and attempt to injure them with their fists (or if they were holding a weapon, they'll use that weapon). Catch them by making them run back to their plaques, stands and pedestals, or destroy using a hammer and chisel.

The Parlor Dolls have now, unfortunately, all grown sharp teeth. They've all taken on ghastly appearances, and if they swarm around you, it might as well be the end of you. You can capture a doll by chasing it back into a display case, or destroy it by carefully ripping their seams.

Dancing Dresses in the painted ballroom will beckon people to dance with them, and will attempt to catch people in the folds of their fabric to immobilize them. They're not lethal on their own, but they'll hold your muse in place for something more dangerous to come along. Capture them by hitting them with a dress form, or destroy them by ripping their seams OR cutting them with scissors. - NOTE: Characters who bowed and danced with any of the ghostly gowns at the Gala XY will not harm the people who danced with them, and will instead, keep dancing.

Decorated Weapons made in the forge will take a life of their own and will seemingly float around, looking for battle. Sometimes they'll team up with Statues, making them especially deadly companions. Capture them by hitting them with a weapon rack, or destroy them with a hammer or any significant heat source.

Baked Goods and Pastries made in the culinary courtyard will not get up on their own, but a good many of them have become poisoned. The severity and potency of the poisons varies, with side effects ranging from an upset stomach to a sudden case of death. They don't move, so you don't have to capture them, but... maybe don't eat them, no matter how good they may smell and look.

Paintings on the street have come to life, making hazards of their own outside of the museum. Street-painted landscapes have become very tangibly real, as well as anything sprayed on the walls. If there was ever a time to regret the giant mural you painted on the side of a building as it crawls from its spot to squash you like a bug, now's the time. You can destroy these with water.

Landscapes will attempt to draw your muse into their world, sealing them in their frames. Your muse will be helpless to do much other than look through the painting like a window. The only means of escape is to have someone else drag you out of the landscape!

In addition to these generic museum hazards, there are a few specific hazards depending on how your muse behaved in Part 1 of the event:

If your muse created something with love, adoration, feelings of happiness, or any other intensely positive emotions, it may help them instead of hinder them. This can be anything from alerting them of danger to protecting them.

Your muse's own creations may attack them, too, aside from the generic monsters in the museum.

If your muse stole any artwork from the museum, it will hunt them down with special vitriol and hostility, and will stop at nothing to destroy your muse.

Similarly, if your muse attempted to destroy any of the artwork in the museum, it's going to target them specifically and attempt to return the favor.

Any art your muse made as a gift to others will either hurt OR help them, depending on individual mun preference.

Have fun! :)

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Frequently Asked Questions

"How long will Part 2 of the event last?"

The event will run until 00:00, June 18th

"Are the optimized tools still here?"

Shockingly, yes! And so are the regular tools, too. How you use them to survive is up to you, but building a door might be the fastest way. However, be warned that drawing a door on a wall has just as big of a chance of sending your muse to a different random room than it does outside the museum.

"Can we still do Part 1 threads?"

Yes! If you would like to keep your Canvas experience monster-free, you can continue making Part 1 starters until the end of the event.

"What about the art my muse took home?"

It has also come to life! So while the museum is certainly dangerous, there are random statues, paintings, dolls and other monsters roaming around OUTSIDE the museum, too.

"Can we destroy the paintings NOW?"

Unfortunately, they're just as invulnerable as they were before. Bummer, huh? Unless they're hit with their specific weakness, the monsters are invulnerable to attacks that damage them. (However, they can still be hindered by traps, and while strong attacks won't destroy them, they'll knock them out of the way!)

"Can we interact with Capella or Janus?"

Poor Janus is trying to put all the artwork back where it belongs by capturing them. He's in no danger for this, as the art in the museum will not attack their curator. Interacting with Capella the Statue might bring the wrath of her giant cat out to you, so. You've been warned!

"What if my muse saw something from their own world in a painting or a statue?"

That's incredibly unfortunate--those might be hostile too, and are subject to the rules that follow the other genuine painting monsters (meaning that the portrait of that character will not have any of their original powers or abilities.)

Whether the subject of the art your muse is familiar with will help or hinder them is up to mun discretion.

"Can't we just bust down the museum and escape?"

And destroy the biggest piece of art in the area?! (No, they won't budge. You'll have to draw your way out if you want to escape, either through a door or some kind of tunnel or something.)

"When will the sun rise?"

Not for 24 hours in-character (though the event will last until Jun 11th). Extended night time, woo!

"What happens if our muses get got by the museum?"

Muses that were defeated and failed to survive the challenge will have their portrait put up on the Wall of Shame, reflecting how they lost the challenge. They won't respawn until the sun rises, either!

"What if I have a question that's not listed here?"

Feel free to direct any questions you may have to the Masterlist!

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

"I thought you said everything would be fine!" Came the panicked footsteps of Janus, running to grab the frame the portrait monster crawled out of, picking it up with surprising ease.

"In my defense, I assumed everything would be." The statue of Caelum replied, furrowing his eyebrows and scrolling through a wall of code. Other statues of a Goddess-like Pleiades and an Antiquated Attired Alathfar, joining as guests, seemed to realize the issue before their older companion did.

"...Yes, nothing in here changed. But I don't see anything about..."

From the other side of the stage, Capella's statue pranced forth, stickers still glittering in the dark, somehow.

"That's just the first page." "The first page?" Caelum and Janus echoed back in confusion. "First page!~"

The grin still stayed on her cheeks from sticker to sticker, while Janus' increasingly scrunched in accusation.

"...I'll be damned. There were two pages after all." "DAD!" "I didn't see it, honest!" "I can't BELIEVE you!" "Now now, it was an honest mistake, really--!"

And as the old man's statue got quite the scolding from his son, Pleides and Alathfar stepped aside, meeting with Capella.

"Was there really a page two?" Pleiades asked, adjusting her comically large, rounded glasses. To that, Capella merely rocked on her heels, smile never fading.

"It's entirely possible Caelum got so wrapped up in helping Janus plan the museum that he overlooked it. Which is endearing, in a way. But..."

As Alathfar trailed off, the three of them looked back at the other statue trying to placate his agitated son, and grimaced in unison (except for Capella, who still seemed to be beaming with delight.)

None of them seemed keen on getting in the middle of the quarrel, and were only relieved when Janus stormed off with his empty frame.

[tokyoghoose]

something that never was

pairing: daisuke kambe x reader

playlist: even if it's a lie - matt maltese*, a soulmate who wasn't meant to be - jessica benko, the less i know the better - tame impala, id rather go blind - beyonce ( cadillac records ), the house we never built - gabrielle aplin*, i cant make you love me - dave thomas junior, i go crazy - orla gartland, blow my brains out - tikkle me, hidden in the sand - tally hall

warnings: angst, mentions of cheating,

summary: the coldness he radiates gets the best of you, ultimately leading to the end.

announcements!

i dont really see daisuke cheating unless it was a misunderstanding or smth, but i liked the idea of this fic. Let me know what you think!

you can tell i didnt write this in a sitting lol. Im vv sorry if it's hard to follow!

feedback is welcome and appreciated! requests are open!

There's a warm body beside you, yet the bed feels cold. The arm around your waist feels almost as foreign as the face in front of you. It hurts to look at him, to feel him. It hurts to even be around him. He's so beautiful but he feels like half the man he once was. It's disheartening.

Maybe the saying, what you don't know can't hurt you is correct because you were feeling the repercussions right about now. Curiosity really did kill the cat, and at this point, you don't even know how to get satisfaction from it. How does one bring up cheating to their partner? Especially when the partner is like Daisuke.

He likes to brush things off without paying a price except for whatever was in his bank account, the type to hand you a card and say 'go get yourself something pretty.' And it wasn't like he was a bad lover, in fact, it was very easy to fall in love with him. He has a charm about him that's magnetic, one glance and suddenly it's impossible to look away. Or at least that was your experience.

With the final confirmation that closing your eyes will do nothing other than bringing pictures into your head, you turn your back to him and try and distance your body from his. It doesn't do anything to help when he pulls you closer subconsciously, except for maybe it makes you want to cry.

You'd confront him tomorrow, you decided.

If you need to.

———

The pace you set is leisure and if kt wasn't for the poor nail bed quickly coming to nothing, it'd seem like you weren't completely losing your head. It's all you can think about. Daisuke out with some girl—who you know for a fact isn't his sister, and who is all over him. He didn't even make a move to push her off! He hates that kind of attention so if he didn't object it, then he was asking for it. He wanted the girl on his side. In fact, for someone who insists the other person sits across from him at a restaurant- he looked quite comfortable with her nearly in his lap.

Maybe you're overthinking this, y/n.

The door clicks open and your ears strain to hear the sound of Daisuke's dress shoes. He's rather indulgent when it comes to dressing wear and the shoes were practically silent, even with the short heel on the back.

"I'm home." He says to no one particular, taking off his trenchcoat and hanging it on the rack beside the door. He stops his path to the bedroom when he sees you frozen in place and staring in the living room. He merely quirks a brow, going to take off his suit and tie.

Suddenly you can't speak and you have tunnel vision. It's unfair how calm he always looks—it's almost smug like he knows everything about you and more. Like he can read your mind and tell you your darkest thoughts and when you'll die because let's be honest, it'll probably be by his hand. Maybe you should back out now before you can say anything. Forget it all because what if you're mistaken? The more you think, the more weight is added onto your shoulders and the more it pushes you down, down further into the hole you want to crawl into. Maybe you should let it because all you want to do now is escape his piercing gaze. His eyes are studying you, taking in your form and the cogs in his brain are turning to find an explanation as to why you are standing there like a psychopath and not welcoming him home like you usually do.

You feel like you're drowning. Is the light getting dimmer? The black around your vision only seems to close in around Daisuke and you try to look anywhere else but his face. There's water in your ears, the popping of them only intensifies until you can feel it pounding into your head with faint static.

Am I going to pass out?

It's not until his hand comes down gently on your shoulder that the closing circle of vision widens out and suddenly all the imaginary water rushes from your ears. You glance down at his rings before back up him, barely catching the end of his words.

"Are you alright?"

He's never been one to beg, so you would have to answer now or he'll leave it be for the rest of the night and probably months after until you're like this again.

"I-can we talk?"

He eyes you suspiciously, narrowing his eyes and keeping his brow raised before nodding, slipping his tie off around his neck, folding it neatly into the palm of his hand. He gestures for you to start the conversation, going to the minibar curving around the kitchen and living area.

When you don't reply he urges you on, "Why so tense? Did something happen, darling?"

It'd seem like he didn't really care from how cold his voice was, but you've grown accustomed to the monotone to know that he truly is concerned for your health. He genuinely wants to know why you're acting so odd. It only makes this so much harder? You're wrong- you have to be. This must be a sick trick your brain has played on you. Or he must be playing some sick trick.

Anxiety settles itself into your gut and it seems like it won't leave anytime soon.

"Daisuke, are...- are you cheating on me?"

His eyebrows finally go lax but he doesn't look up from unbuttoning the cuffs of his white button-down. His fingers fidget at the buttons and instead of the previous loose form, his hand forms a fist.

"I- "

"Why—exactly, are you accusing me of this?"

His gaze sends chills down your spine. He's offended but he doesn't offer a defense. Suddenly your mouth is dry and you lose all your words? How exactly were you going to tell him you stumbled across him and some woman in a restaurant and practically stared them down for fifteen minutes.

You decide the bear it and swallow a lump that has formed in your throat.

"You were with a woman earlier this week snd well, the displays of affection that I saw were not very like you. You've been gone for long hours and even if you blamed it on the new job, Daisuke—you never tell me anything. Is she for a case? Are you using her for information? Go on, tell me about it. Give me a reason not to accuse you."

You regain your confidence but it falters when you meet his indifferent expression. You'd prefer it if he looked angry and the silence that fills the room is deafening and the tension suffocating.

"I can't tell you anything about our cases-"

"I'm your partner! What am I going to do? Rat you out to whoever is breaking the law? Why would I even how those connections, Daisuke?"

Daisuke inhales deeply through his nose like this whole conversation is a burden on him and you can't help but feel like a burden too. Was this relationship not worth the time to talk this out? One hand grips the bar and the other pinches the bridge of his nose.

"You aren't my partner, you're my fiance. My partner and I work together. So, no. I can't tell you about the cases."

You want to rip out your hair. This isn't about his stupid job or his stupid partner. This is about the dumb fucking restaurant and the dumb fucking woman who was hanging off him.

He can't actually be this dense!

"It's not about that! Either you aren't getting the point or you keep changing the subject because it's true!" Your voice rises in pitch, your confidence failing and turning more so into desperation. But you aren't crying yet. There are no tears and your eyes are dry and you absolutely refuse to cry in front of a Kambe.

It's like the beginning of your relationship all over again. A protective barrier around yourself so you don't get hurt and offended by his cold shoulder. Was it so bad to think you've moved on from that feeling? Why is it so difficult for him to just comfort you and push back those fears? Is he that emotionally stunted? You may not know much about his past and his family, but damn— at least you're trying to work through it with him. Can he put out a little more effort?

All he does is pour himself a glass. All he does... is pour himself a glass.

"You know what- forget it. If you're so entitled and so emotionally reserved that you can't even talk to me without a drink first, then I guess we'll talk about it another time—when you don't look like my voice gives you a headache."

Daisuke actually looks taken back by your words and you suddenly feel bad for hitting a sore spot. He may not have shown it often, but he doesn't particularly like not being able to show his true emotions; no matter the reason being.

"Y/N, wait.."

But you're back on adrenaline just as soon as he felt a drop, pushing past him to get to your coat. You just needed to calm down before you said something you'd truly regret. Words tended to stay in his mind much longer than they were intended to.

"I'm staying at my mother's. Don't call me, don't text me, don't come near me until you're ready to tell me what the hell you were doing with her. "

When he doesn't say anything more and you can practically hear the cogs in his head turn, you make your way out there door, making sure to slam it shut.

You slip on the coat angrily, slamming open the door without sparing him a glance but waiting for him to say something. Anything. Were you being too rash? You shake your head and scold yourself, mentally. You can't just turn around now, not after an outburst like that. He has to learn something from this.

Irrational or not, hopefully, his true colors would show.

[emiewritesthings]

locked down with you (1)- jay halstead

jay halstead x fem!reader

summary: a series of scenarios between y/n and jay whilst they quarantine together

requested?: nope but requests are open :)

warnings: language but basically just fluff

a/n: still being in lockdown has made me think about what it would be like to be living with jay during these times. the following is just a strange combinations of scenarios i have thought about. not sure i how i feel about them :/

masterlist

day 1 of lockdown

“is that the last box?” jay called out as he reappeared from his room with a sweaty brow and a large smile on his face. he wasn’t sure if he would ever get used to seeing your clothes hung up beside his own in his wardrobe, or your shows lined up beside his by the door. it was strange, but it felt... natural.

“i think so, wow is it sad that my whole life can be packed up into 5 boxes?” y/n asked, collapsing onto the sofa breathing out heavily. jay let out a small chuckle, before he joined her, melting into the cushions that supported their bodies. 

“well that’s not true, that was just your clothes, you still have an entire apartment of things waiting for you back home.” he corrected, with a smug smile pointed. the pad of it flicking her nose, making a childish giggle escape her parted lips. “but who knows by the end of this thing you might need to bring those over too.” jay hummed, leaning closer to her with lustful eyes. in a matter of seconds, his lips pressed lazy kisses against her neck, the sensation taking y/n’s body to a new level of euphoria

“just give it a week, halstead. you will be so sick of me you will have to kick me out.” she challenged, watching as he pulled his lips away from her skin for a moment. allowing their foreheads to rest against one another, eyes both equalling challenging the other to make the next mood. in a moment of weakness, it had been y/n to lean forward, igniting the warmth in their chest. 

“if anything, i don’t think i will be able to let you go.” his breaths were rugged, only parting to say the last few words before he reconnected their lips. his hands respectfully running over her body, admiring the way it curved and held its unique shape. 

he sure could get used to this.

--

day 3 of lockdown

“jay!” y/n whined impatiently as she threw her head back to demonstrate just how tired she was becoming. a strange ache running up her spine from the position she was currently sat in. her back arched as she rested against the arm of the sofa. her fingers pinching a pencil as she looked between her sketchpad and the angelic man sat a few centimetres away. “i thought i told you not to move.” 

jay’s eyes narrowed in confusion, as he looked up from the pile of paperwork he had to complete by the end of the day. seeing his girlfriend sat in a large hoodie that she had stolen from their wardrobe and a pair of shorts, a look of boredom and frustration etched on her features, he had to question what the hell was going on.

“what are you talking about?” jay asked, in all honesty, he had been so focused on his work that he had tuned the woman out. from the look of art supplies spread over the floor, he could only assume she was occupying her day off with fulfilling her craving to be artistic. 

“you know what, it doesn’t even matter anymore,” she sighed, closing up the book in her hands. “it was stupid anyway.” she muffled into the sleeve of her sweater, attempting to walk out of the living room towards the kitchen, a place she had labelled her ‘happy place’ from the moment she stepped into the apartment. slight guilt seeped into jay’s mind as he pushed himself away from the sofa cushions and wrapped her up in his bulky, warm arms.

“i’m sorry.” he apologised, arms trapping her in what only could be described as a bear hug. from her small frame, jay managed to rest his chin on the top of her head, until he brought his face down to kiss her cheek softly. “i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i’m sorry.” he repeated between each.

y/n felt her mood slightly, reminding herself of the effect the man had on her. she felt like mush in his hands that he was able to sculpt in whatever way he wanted and she had no objections. 

“now what do we have here?” he spoke more to himself as he took the sketchpad from her hands, his fingers playing with the edge of the pages until he stopped on a page with a rather large sketch. the pencil lines were faint, but it didn’t take jay a moment to recognise the large image illustrated on the page. “holy shit, y/n.”

feeling her cheeks heat up, she tried to hide her face with her sleeves. she didn’t like to share her work with anyone, with fear that she would be laughed out of the room. but listening to jay’s taken aback tone made the butterflies in her stomach jump without any consideration for y/n’s wellbeing.

“i know it’s not the best, but-.” she attempted to denounce her clear display of talent by breaking out the embrace, but jay only held onto her tighter. using what control he had to turn her around to face him. he had placed the sketch on the coffee table, so he could focus fully on the beautiful woman standing in front of him.

“it’s amazing,” jay assured, his gaze diving deep into the soul present behind the beautiful colours of y/n’s eyes. “you are amazing, i’m sorry i’m so busy.” y/n didn’t need an apology. she knew that jay’s job was much more demanding than her own. it just seemed being forced to do nothing didn’t feel as good as when she chose to do nothing before any of this quarantine business was mentioned. 

“do you want some help?” she offered, not wanting to intrude. her teeth brought in her bottom lip to bite in anticipation worried she had crossed the line. jay’s hand reached up to rest on the side of her face, his thumb resting on her chin as he brought it down to rescue her lip.

“you are the best, you know that?” 

“ugh, come on, romeo.” 

day 9 of lockdown

“okay-.” y/n began as she entered the bedroom, her body wrapped in a towel and her hair leaving water droplets behind her. it was sometime in the late afternoon and jay was laying on their bed. his attention had been caught by a book y/n had brought, but it had been stolen when she had entered the room.

“i don’t know what you’re about to say but i know it’s going to be a bad idea.” jay discouraged, he knew her. he knew her more than anyone else in this world. the way her voice had raised slightly at the end and she was currently avoiding eye contact with the detective, telling him that she was about to make to offer a foolish plan.

“no fair, you have to at least hear me out!” she whined like a child, searching around for her bras that were normally flung in different directions, thanks to a little too happy detective. jay watched her with a loving grin, she made him feel so alive. 

“okay, proceed.” he gestured as though he was king of the castle ordering his servants around. flicking her middle finger up at the man, disappearing into the bathroom once again, but her voice could still be made out.

“i want to dye my hair!” jay couldn’t see her face, but he could imagine the little hop she had done in excitement at telling him about her idea. “or maybe shave my head, you know, since lockdown could go on for the rest of the year, it’s not like anyone will see it.” 

letting out a deep chuckle, he waited until she reappeared to respond. her body, cladded in sweats (for once ones that belonged to her), collapsed down beside him. curling into the side of his body. she stared up at him dazedly, trying to read the thoughts behind his eyes.

“it’s your body, your choice,” he shrugged, his right hand coming to his side so he could grab ahold of her own. when interlocking their fingers, he made sure to run his thumb over her knuckles comforting. “i don’t care if you shaved off all your hair and your eyebrows whilst wearing a potato sack, you will always be beautiful to me.” 

“i love you.” she hummed, leaning up to kiss his lips.

“i love you too.” 

--

day 16 of lockdown

“y/n hurry up it’s on!” y/n heard as she grabbed a few beers from the fridge. as she reached the living room, she grinned at the sight of kevin, kim, adam, will, natalie on the computer screen. 

“hey guys!” she squealed, giving jay a beer before putting the rest on the coffee table that the computer currently rested on. 

“oh shit, now i owe kevin 10 bucks.” adam whined, his image slightly pixelated from his poor connection. frowning, y/n looked towards jay that was equally as confused. they then turned their gaze towards kevin, who wore a large smug smirk.

“ruzek here betted me 10 bucks that you two would have killed one another by day 14.” y/n let out a snort of laughter, throwing her head back in amusement. of course, kevin had bet in their corner, had it not been for him, jay and y/n wouldn’t have been together in the first place. 

“honestly i wouldn’t have blamed you, y/n,” will spoke up, “it takes a saint to deal with jay’s slobbiness. i think i have only ever seen jay clean his room twice, mom always took pity on him.” will chuckled, making jay cower in embarrassment. y/n had seen first-hand jay’s ability to create a mess in a matter of minutes. a stray sock here, an empty pizza box there. before she knew it, they were eligible for Hoarders USA. 

“shut up, will, are we starting this quiz or what?” jay changed the subject, trying to get over the embarrassment of being laughed at by their closest friends. in an attempt to cool him down, y/n hooked her pinky around his. offering him a soft smile when he looked up in her direction.

“hope you guys are ready to lose.” she teased, turning back to face the screen. jay watched the way she acted so freely, a kind smile never slipping from her face, her touch soothing his soul. at that moment he couldn’t help but think ‘this will be the woman i marry’

--

day 34 of lockdown

“-alright, alright i think he’s on his way. i’ll see you later.” y/n rushed out as she jumped off her position sat on the edge of the bed. her heartbeat was thumping against her chest as she shoved her phone back into her pocket, aware the sound of water had fallen silent. 

it was jay’s birthday and y/n had been planning it for the past two weeks. unfortunately, it was well known that y/n y/l/n was awful keeping secrets. it was as though when she knew something, good or bad, she felt an immense amount of pressure, which ended in her exploding and spilling all to the one person she normally wasn’t meant to. but she was determined that this would be like the other times. she had gone the extra mile in avoiding conversation with jay, knowing one slip and her whole plan was ruined. 

“hey, baby!” jay yelled, y/n’s body jumped in shock. his footsteps growing nearer until he appeared in front of him. his muscled torso on show as his bottom half was hidden away by a large grey towel. jay noticed y/n’s jumpy behaviour immediately, his eyes drawing nearer as he examined her face. “what’s wrong?”

“wrong? with me? pfft, nothing’s wrong with me. absolutely nothing. w-what’s wrong with you?” she rushed out, leaning her weight against the dressing table until her hand slipped and she quickly caught herself before hitting her head on the wood. jay shook his head in amusement, he had been worried for the past few days that he had upset the woman. she was unusually quiet, which normally indicated that something was wrong, considering she hated silence. 

“doesn’t matter.” 

seeing jay withdraw from her made her want to reach out, but her mind already ticked over to something else. running into the guest room, she reappeared with a shoe-like box. not knowing what to say, she shoved the box in his direction innocently. jay pecked her lips lightly, taking the box and taking a seat as he ripped the sparkly paper she had found in a random drawer.

removing the box lid, he peered into the box with curiosity. in a matter of seconds the teasing look fell from his face, replaced with a loss of words. in the box resided memories that up until that moment had been in the back of jay’s mind. letters that the pair had sent back and forth all those years ago when he had been enlisted in afghanistan. photos from jay’s police academy graduation, dates, christmases anything that held a sentimental feeling y/n wished to recreate. 

“y-you kept all this stuff?” he asked, his fingers grabbing a small blue teddy bear that’s fur was slightly matted from the dust that had tainted its texture and colour. the very bear y/n had brought jay the time he had broke his arm back when they were kids, she had forced her mother to buy the bear from the giftshop knowing that it would cheer the boy up. she was right, of course she was right.

“of course i did,” she whispered, resting her chin on his shoulder, watching him study each individual object. “throwing away any of this stuff made me feel like i was throwing a bit of us, you know?” y/n felt stupid, but only the slight blush on her cheeks gave it away to anyone that looked close enough.

“thank you, thank you for everything.” snaking his arms around her, he brought his chest close to his chest. sometimes he felt like they were still the kids that would climb through each other’s windows just so they could hold one another and remind the other they weren’t alone. “i love you so much, i’m so happy i have you in my life.” 

the tears brimming in y/n’s eyes were not missed by the detective, he didn’t miss anything she did. she was like art to him, something beautiful, at times a little misunderstood, but beautiful nevertheless. lifting his head to connect their lips, the two took their time, slowly allowing the lust to push its way through. before it could progress any further a loud blare made them jump apart.

“what the-.” jay began, watching as y/n pushed her way off the seat and running out the door. hesitantly he followed, leading his way out of the house until he found y/n grinning childishly. 

“happy birthday, man!” pulling his eyes away from his girl, he found the familiar cars driving slowly down the road. the lights on the large black cars blaring as kevin leaned out the front car, whilst adam and kim leaned out the second. with the confusion seeping into the feeling of surprise, he felt y/n leave his side before reappearing. this time, her arms held out a large cake that had clearly been homemade considering the way the lettering that spelt out ‘happy birthday, jay’ slowly got smaller towards the end.

“you did all this for me?” he asked astounded, despite y/n being the most affectionate and loving person he knew.

“of course i did,” she responded as if it was the most ridiculous questions she had ever heard. “i meant what i said jay, i love you. this is the least i could do considering all you do for me.” the heart to heart was rudely interrupted by the blaring of a car horn.

“you guys can do your thing later, just blow out the candles!” adam complained, earning a thwack over the arm by kim. “i mean, totally up to you, buddy. happy birthday!” 

jay chuckled, as he took in a deep breath and blew out the many candles that sprinkled over the sweet treat. before he ignored the cheers of his friends and kissed y/n passionately. 

“this might just be the best birthday ever.” he grinned. 

“happy birthday, baby.”

[katlyn1948]

Because I can’t seem to get it OUT OF MY HEAD! Here’s something I’ve been working on...it’s no where near ready to be posted on AO3 but I really wanted to share a bit of it. It’s a Gendrya AU based off of Julia Quinn’s “To Sir Philip, With Love.” The story isn’t the same and I’ve changed a few things for the sake of how I want my AU to go, for example there are no correspondence between Arya and Gendry...let me just share what I have so you know what I mean.

Also...let me know if I should continue!!

The Westerosi countryside was a refreshing change of scenery compared to the bustling streets of King’s Landing. Arya had begged her mother for a summer away from the upcoming season, and to much of Catelyn Stark's dismay, she finally conceded and allowed her daughter to skip this year's social season.

Arya had thought they would be staying at their seaside estate, but her mother insisted on going to the city, if not to display her daughter for marriage, then for the petty gossip that was sure to come of sociable young women parading around to find a husband.

The tantalizing idea of spending her summer at home was quickly dashed when Arya’s mother announced they would indeed be traveling south.

“But mother, there isn’t a need if I’m not to be apart of this year’s season.” Arya tried to convince her mother otherwise, but the woman was set in her ways.

“Nonsense,” she chided. “Just because you wish not to find a husband does not mean we have to make ourselves scarce.”

“I haven’t wished to find a husband since you first started parading me around.” She said under a hushed tone so that her mother would not hear. But Catelyn Stark had the uncanny heat anything her children said. Her mother gave her a hard stare, the center of her brows creasing with diffused anger.

“Arya Stark, the only reason I agreed for you to take this season off was due to the fact your last five seasons ended without a husband on your arm. But you are nearing four and twenty! The older you are the harder it is to find a suitable young man. Why, your sister was ten and nine when she married Willas, you should—”

“Yes, yes I’ve heard it all before!” She waved off. “I’ll find a husband when I find a man that is worthy of my hand.”

She slammed the book she held hand a bit forcefully, giving her mother a knowing glare.

“By the gods child, you will be the death of me! Not even your youngest brother objected to marriage!” Catelyn shook her head and gave a defeated sigh. “You really wish not to attend to the city?”

Arya gave a curt nod.

“Very well, I had entertained the idea of you going to the countryside to visit your Great Aunt Maude. She wished to have your sister, but of course she’s busy building her family. I could send you for the summer. She’s needing help with her estate.”

Arya hadn’t ever heard of a ‘Great Aunt Maude’ but if it meant her escape from the gossip then she would gladly trudge through mud and grime in the Westerosi countryside.

Which she expected to be lovely. Except for the humidity.

As she was bustling away in her carriage her mother provided, watching the sand dunes change into soft rolling hills, there was an excitement in her bones. It was an area of Westeros she had never ventured to before, yet had longed to see.

Albeit, she was there under the guise of taking care of her ailing Great Aunt, one of whom she’s never met, let alone heard of. According to her mother, she was her father’s aunt...on his mother’s side. She was ancient, by all accounts, and driving her nurses mad. She has requested the company of Sansa, Arya’s much more capable sister, whom she swaddled once as a babe to join her at her estate. But considering Sansa predisposition, Arya it was.

She had no qualms about taking care of an ailing family member, especially one belonging to her father, but she’d never met the woman. Arya had not the slightest inkling as who or what this woman was.

She was widowed; that much Arya knew, and not just this once. According to her mother, Aunt Maude had married and been widowed three times. All of her husbands had left her with hefty sums, more than enough to sustain her for the rest of her life.

Arya had wondered why she was requesting assistance from such distance relatives, surely the woman had had children sometime during her three marriages. Turns out she had one. A son, who perished in the Great War long before Arya had been born.

The poor thing had no one else to turn to.

So yes, although she’d be taking care of woman who was sure to croak in the next day or two, she’d be happy to if meant she was far from social season.

Too bad her hair didn’t agree.

The moment she step foot outside of the carriage, her hair turned to nothing more than a nest atop her head. It wasn’t hot out, no not like the summer heat King’s Landing was sure to give, but it was sticky and dress she had been wearing clung to her icky skin. She gave a grimace as she tugged at the collar of her riding jacket, trying desperately to relieve her body from itself.

“Got to love the humidity.” The footman said as he helped her from the high step of the carriage.

“Is it always like this?”

“During the summer, nearly everyday. It’s worse when it rains. But we’ll get a few days of the perfect summer breeze.” He gave a small smile, whist-fully daydreaming about said days.

“Such things to look forward to.” She said under her breath. So far, the country was shaping up to be a disaster, and Arya had the sinking feeling they were only to get worse.

[rosedhall]

do you have any thoughts abt jaya?

Okay, so initial preface is that I don't actually really care deeply about how anyone else chooses to portray this relationship, these are just my own thoughts and how I like to interpret or present the two of them, specifically romantically in this context. If you have a different way of doing so, that's cool, I'm just very into overthinking dynamics and it doesn't really to bother me what other people do with them- so take this as my own thoughts in portrayal; alright epic.

I want to start off with the inevitable: "fixing/saving" Jimmy as a dynamic and inadvertently woobifying him is one of those things that generally causes me a bit of distaste in some presentation of these two, but I do think it's key to note that it's a trope I'm not particularly keen to fall into personally so this may originate from a preference. Let's be frank in that Jimmy has issues, issues that extend beyond even his demonic possession. The man is not very stable; he's pushy, unnerving, overtly a bit of a leer, manic and socially illiterate (I am too because I'm autistic, but it becomes an issue when you're making women feel unsafe with it and Maya evidently), they're traits which make him a fucking brilliant character but in equal measure a demanding person. And I feel removing those aspects to fit in the ship does Huld's performance and Tim's writing a disservice, equally, utilising Maya as a tool to alter him for the better is unfair in similar respects. I think Jimmy is at his most fun when he is making people feel uncomfortable; do you see how quickly people get endeared to him within the first cutscene? It's grand characterisation.

Maya is her own character too, with her own ambitions, and reducing her down to a trope wherein she has to help a man capable of seeking therapy himself but refusing to do as much is kind of unfair to her, it goes into some places which causes issues and is kind of ooc - given that she explicitly chooses to leave given the option: because of course she would, poor woman. If you wanted to touch on the flaws of that sort of "saving" story then I completely respect it but uncritically only having Maya about to be an untrained support system feels inadequate to her character potential to me: obviously partners help each other, but your partner isn't your therapist and that could and should be discussed with this sort of relationship. If you're writing Jimmy as manipulative in regards to him leaning in on the "you can fix me" narrative, I think that goes hard and acts as a sound criticism if you have dramatic irony running alongside it y'know. I think Maya is great in that she CAN help with the possession, she's a medium, but even Huld has mentioned that Jimmy's problems run wayy deeper and they have to be touched on.

I think it's why I am kind of partial to: "Jimmy Hall's weird crush on poor Maya, who is trying to get a degree, dammit" as a dynamic, specifically.

Stripping Maya of autonomy kind of goes hand-in-hand with the previous issue, I have with some presentations or interpretations of Maya as this immediately smitten... almost personality void who serves to be an object to be fawned over or someone to fawn over Jimmy. She has her own problems, she's blunt and kind of apathetic - presumably because she's been seeing dead people and channelling their memories for fuck knows how long, which must take a mental toll. Her own problems have never seemed as touched upon by the fandom, which sucks, I think there's potential there - hell, maybe it could serve as a point to flip the "woman fixes broken man" trope on its head and portray how Jimmy could help her with the turmoil of seeing dead people constantly, could be a fun Jaya prospect for those who ar interested in promts. Maya and her character are just as important in this ship and I think it should be touched on more in mutual presentations of it.

I can seen Jaya or whatever as one-sided particularly, given that it's essentially canon, although it's unknown if that stems from whatever is possessing him or Jimmy himself. But in equal parts, if you can find a way to mellow Jimmy to a state where he wouldn't be detrimental to Maya whilst keeping him bizarre then I completely fuck with the concept.

How I would portray it in a mutual way is kind of an interesting question... I think it's important for Jimmy to have some semblance of stability because Maya's smart enough to keep clear of him when he's behaving tumultuously. Like I said above, I don't want Maya to have this " obligation " to save Jimmy because it's not her job and she's her own person. I think there's potential to be explored in how they can assist each other without encroaching on the obsession Jimmy displays in-game.

As for if I " ship " it, I don't know if that's the best term for me to use? I like the dynamic but it's hardly typical and I am not keen on the prospect of losing the disconcerting aspect of their relationship or lack thereof as it's what makes it so unique and fun to explore. I think I do, but not in the typical manner, I don't want to alter the characters so much to just produce a sappy ship which doesn't have a parallel in-canon (hey, that's what I use Roseharvey for lmao - simplifying of course, this ask isn't about that ship). I love the characters and therefore I love portrayals of the ship which amplify their quirks, flaws and of course some of their positive traits, and the potential issues that arise from having the both of them in a romantic relationship, I feel like glossing over the obvious pitfalls a relationship like that may have only does the characters a disservice, so if I were to present Jaya in a mutual or even one-sided manner I would always feel inclined to tackle them first. Of course do whatever you please and take my opinion as just that.

I don't particularly have a closing statement, so take this rambling as you will *peace sign*.

[rhysismydaddy]

Naughty Neighbors pt. 2 (Elriel)

As promised, it’s in Azriel’s POV which was actually super hard for me to write for some reason. Don’t ask why it’s in first person when Elain’s isn’t. Just go with it I’m so tired.

I LOVED reading the comments on the last post they brought the biggest smile to my face so thank you all so much for the love!

Part 3

______________________________________________________________

~Azriel~

At first, I’d thought it was just attraction.

I mean, it was inevitable. She'd shown up in the middle of the night, dressed in a thin, rose-colored robe that did absolutely nothing to hide the curves underneath, smiling at me like I don’t deserve to be smiled at.

It was obvious I’d be attracted to her.

But it was also different. 

Because usually, when I’m attracted to a woman, I go after her and get her out of my system the old fashioned way. But with Elain Archeron... it’s somehow more than that. 

Don’t get confused, I’d be more than happy to have her under me. Or on top of me. Or trapped between me and a wall. 

But I also crave her smile, her laugh. Her blush. 

Fuck, I love that blush. 

The woman turns red at any sort of innuendo, like she’s never been flirted with before. At least not properly. 

I’m damn near addicted to it. 

Which might explain why I’ve developed a routine in the week after moving into my apartment. I get up and get ready, walk with her to work, fight the temptation to go across the street and kiss her stupid, then walk with her home. 

It’s only a total of ten minutes together a day, but it's enough to drive me fucking crazy. 

Crazy enough to do it over and over again, just like I am right now. 

I knock on the door to her shop, keeping my unspoken vow to never go in the flower-infested place. 

“Hey,” she says with a grin as she comes down to meet me, locking the glass door behind her. “How was work?”

“Well, a three-hundred pound man got a tattoo of a raccoon on his back. Shit took three hours and was bigger than in real life.” She giggles, and my lips twitch at the sight. “You?”

“I sold a lot of bouquets, since it’s wedding season. Nothing special.”

We start the short walk back to our apartment complex, walking close enough that our arms occasionally brush. The feel of her soft skin on mine has me gritting my teeth, and we’re still four minutes out. Fuck.

Elain shivers slightly, and since it isn’t cold, I take it to mean I’m not the only one affected. I could be a gentleman and let the reaction go, but... 

“Are you cold?”

Soft brown eyes meet mine, and there’s a bit of surprise in them. “No.”

“You sure? You shivered.” 

Those eyes narrow slightly, well on to the game I’m playing. “I’m sure.”

I can’t stop the smirk from forming on my face, but she just sighs and turns straight forward again. 

“Any plans for the weekend?”

I’m practically baiting her into saying she’s doing something with her boyfriend, even though I doubt that’ll be the case. I haven’t so much as seen the guy around the entire week. 

If I were him-

No. We’re not going there. 

“Not really, actually. I might go to the MOMA.”

It’s easy to picture her in a museum, staring adoringly at overpriced pieces of art a child could probably recreate. “Art fan?”

“Not really. My sister has an exhibit this week and wants me to come. I like her art, but she’s the exception.”

For some reason, this makes me smile. “Nothing’s good enough to impress you?”

Her eyes narrow in the cute way they always do when I tease her, and she says, “Nothing makes me feel anything. Art should make you feel something. Right?”

Is she seriously asking me that? “I don’t know. I’ve never been to a museum.”

Elain stops walking suddenly, and I turn to face her with raised brows. “Ever? You’ve never been to a museum?”

I shake my head, confused as to why she’s confused. Is that not normal?

“What about on school trips?”

Oh. 

That explains it. 

I turn and keep walking, knowing she’ll catch up in a second. When she does, I say, “Maybe my school was low on field trip funds or something.”

The lie tastes like dirt in my mouth, so I light a cigarette to wash it down. 

She rolls her eyes like she knows I’m full of shit and keeps walking. 

“You look beautiful today, Elain.” 

Her cheeks go pink at the words, and the urge to punch her boyfriend grows. If a woman blushes every single time someone calls her beautiful, she probably doesn’t hear it enough. 

And I know I tell her everyday, but it’s especially true today. She’s in one of her probably hundred dresses, and it’s tighter around the waist and loose around the bottom. 

I think it was designed just for her.

Or maybe just to drive me insane. Either theory works. 

Her hair’s down, framing the soft features I’m disgustingly obsessed with, and there’s a pink tone to her full lips. She looks like a goddamn flower. 

I hate flowers, I remind myself helplessly. 

We keep walking, and I’m so focused on thinking about anything except the way that pretty little dress swishes around her thighs that I don’t even realize we’re back at the complex. 

I open the door for her, and she goes inside but waits before heading up the stairs. 

“What are you doing?”

Her cheeks go a bit more red, even as her eyes narrow. “I’m wearing a dress. You go up first.”

“Elain Archeron,” I scold instantly, mood brightening already, “I can’t believe you’d accuse me of trying to look up your dress.” 

I probably would’ve, but that’s another point entirely. 

She bites her lip, and my blood starts to thrum. “I didn’t say that, actually.”

“Oh, I see. You just want to look at my ass, then.”

A laugh bubbles out of her, and I take mercy and head up the stairs, pausing once every now and then to shake my butt in her face. 

“You’re a child,” she laughs, pushing my back to make me go forward again. 

I’m laughing, too by the time we make it to the hallway with our apartments. But the joy falls away as we stand outside, both nervously silent. It feels like the end of a date, for some reason. 

Maybe because we were laughing and smiling and flirting. Maybe. 

“What’s your name?” she asks, exactly like she always does. 

Fucking unable to help it, I lean in close enough our noses brush, smiling when she sucks in a breath. “You ready to pay the price?”

Every day it’s the same response. She usually shies away, rolls her eyes, and drops it, but today she surprises me. “What’s the price, exactly?”

Her voice is a little scratchy, and her legs are tense, like she’s pressing them together. For a moment, I can’t even breathe, let alone tell her. She looks so adorably naive and beautiful right now. It’s hard to focus on anything except the heaving of her chest, the lip tucked between her teeth. 

Bu it’s the raw desire in her eyes that makes me finally respond. “I want you to give in. I want you to kiss me like I know you’re dying to. I want you to admit that it’s me that turns you on, me who you think about at night.”

Her breathing’s rougher now, and it ignites a fire in my blood. “I want you to tell me you want me, Elain. Because we both know you do.”

“I...”

Fucking hell, she’s going to kill me. I’m desperate to hear the words, so when I speak, it sounds like a plea. “Say it.”

But something comes over her, and the cloudiness sweeps from her eyes instantly. She takes a deep breath and places a palm against my chest to shove me away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I have a boyfriend.”

Her favorite thing to say, apparently. 

“I love him,” Elain says with strong, fake conviction. “I... I don’t want you.”

A harsh laugh forces itself out of my throat. “Beautiful little liar.”

Her cheeks go pink, and I smile in spite of the tense conversation. “I’m not lying.”

“Yes, you are, but that’s okay. I get it.” Before I can stop myself, I’m moving to tuck a strand of loose hair behind her ear. “But I’m not telling you my name until you stop.”

Before she can respond, the door behind her swings open, revealing a man instantly recognizable as the boyfriend. He’s in a disgustingly cheap suit, about 5′11 with red hair and golden brown eyes with his hair pulled back in a low bun.

I automatically want to punch him for some reason, but I deny myself the satisfaction. 

“What’s going on?” he asks, glancing between me and Elain. There’s something in his voice, but it’s not suspicion. It’s surprise. Like he can’t even fathom the idea of seeing her with another man. 

Fucking idiot. 

A woman like her is always going to get male--and probably female--attention. 

“Nothing,” Elain says instantly, taking a step towards him. “This is our neighbor. He moved in Monday.”

“Oh. Hey, man. I’m Lucien.”

I ignore his outstretched hand. “The boyfriend?”

A bit of the friendliness leaves his eyes, and he pulls Elain to him and wraps an arm around her shoulders. “The boyfriend.”

“How exciting,” I mock, sounding like a total prick. I don’t really mean to, but I can’t help it. I mean, this is the guy she’s with? Objectively, I’m man enough to admit he isn’t exactly ugly, but he sounds about as interesting as a can of beans. 

He probably works a desk job. Something in finance. 

And he has Elain? 

It makes no sense. 

Lucien The Boyfriend ignores that statement and looks down at Elain. “I missed you this week,” he mutters before pressing a quick, grossly wet kiss to her lips. 

The surprise in her eyes makes it clear he’s not usually so... affectionate. 

I have to cough to hide a laugh. 

He’s trying to mark his territory, but if he actually looked at his girlfriend’s face, he could easily see how stupid it looked. 

“Have a nice night, lovebirds,” I say sarcastically as I unlock my door, still chuckling to myself. If he kisses her like that, gods know how he fucks her. 

Poor woman. 

~Elain~

Well, that was uncomfortable. 

And embarrassing. 

The little laugh her neighbor had barely attempted to hide made her skin burn. Lucien wasn’t a bad kisser, but neither of them had really been ready for his sudden display of affection. 

Plus, it’s not like the man had tried to hide his reason for kissing her. They hardly ever touched in public. 

Or at home, really. 

It’d been three weeks since they’d slept together, so she knew the kiss was for their audience’s benefit. 

She ignored the gross feeling inside her gut and went to the kitchen to start dinner. 

“That guy’s rude,” Lucien commented, sliding on a bar stool and loosening his tie. “And he looks like a drug dealer.”

The urge to roll her eyes was almost overpowering. He thinks anyone with tattoos is a drug dealer. “He’s nice.”

“So you’ve met before?”

Elain sighed, not knowing how to answer this. “Sort of. He works at the tattoo place across the street, so I bump into him some. I don’t even know his name, though.”

Why was she lying? 

I bump into him? 

Seriously? 

She’d walked with him every day this week. And thought about him all the time. 

Not to mention tonight, when she’d been a second away from finally finding out what his mouth felt like against hers, what it tasted like. 

Gods, just the thought of that encounter made her sweat. 

He knew exactly what he was doing to her. 

And her mind knew, knew, he was dangerous and might very well be involved in all sorts of illegal activities, but her body didn’t give a single shit. 

She wanted him like she’d never wanted anyone before. 

But that was just attraction. What she had with Lucien, that was love. A lifelong, everlasting love. Right?

She slid the plate of reheated chicken and rice in front of her boyfriend and muttered, “I’m going to shower.”

He nodded, not even looking up. 

Two hours later, they were watching a movie in bed, neither of them paying much attention to the screen. There had been a tension between them ever since the weird kissing incident. 

She wasn’t mad, but it had just made her feel a little strange. 

He seemed to notice it, too.

“I love you,” Lucien whispered quietly, rolling on his side to look down at her. “I know things have been weird recently, and I’m sorry. I’m just stressed at work, but I don’t need to bring that home with me. I just... I love you. You know that right?”

She nodded immediately. “I know. It’s okay. I love you, too.”

A small smile on his face, he leaned down to her and kissed her. There was no awkwardness now, thank the gods. 

She thought he’d pull away like usual, but he tilted his head and took it deeper, sliding his tongue in her mouth.

Surprised, she kissed him back, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Something in the back of her mind was hatefully muttering that he was only doing this because of their neighbor, but her body didn’t really mind. It had been weeks, and just being touched made her happy.

Supporting himself on his elbows, he came over her, resting in between her thighs. A hand snuck down and tugged her robe open, then she heard his belt buckle open.

Normally she’d want to take things slower and draw it out, but she didn’t mind tonight. Her body needed him and whatever contact it could get.

A few moments of shuffling, then he pressed against her, and she gasped as he immediately started to move. Okay, maybe a little more drawing it out would have been helpful. 

Her hips moved with him, trying to keep up with his increasing pace. Lucien grunted in her ear, breath hot on her neck. 

It was too much too soon, and he seemed to sense that. His hand came to her breasts, and she moaned softly as he molded one to his touch.

The sound seem to affect him, and he stilled above her, then kissed her deeply.

Elain laid underneath him, heart racing, and tried not to raise an eyebrow. Or laugh. Or cry. 

That was it? The first time they had sex in almost a month, and that was it?

He pulled out slowly, kissed her brow, and rolled over. Her mouth dropped open.

He wasn’t even going to make sure she finished? Because she sure as hell hadn’t. And more than that, he rolled away from her?

They didn’t always have great sex, but it was usually better than that. And he always held her afterward until she fell asleep.

She felt cheap. Used.

Definitely unsatisfied.

Now more than ever, it felt like they were fifty years old. She made him dinners and kept the apartment clean, he worked a desk job at an investment bank, they came home, barely talked, then had unremarkable sex.

She’d known for a while they were in a slump, but now it seemed like it was a permanent thing. 

After waiting until he started snoring soundly, she slipped a hand between her legs, trying to relieve some of the tension.

Gods, that had been awful.

Maybe it was her fault. Maybe it was because she was so worked up from...

Her neighbor’s smirking face popped into her mind. The ache between her legs got worse, and she moaned as she slipped a finger inside herself.

Sitting up suddenly, she pushed his face out of her head. This was wrong.

She couldn’t... fantasize about another man while in the same bed as her boyfriend.

Elain threw her robe on the ground and walked to the shower, ignoring the fact that she’d already taken one tonight. She’d wash this night away and forget about it.

But he appeared in her mind again, shaking his head with a smile. That’s not possible, beautiful.

Hard to forget someone when they were mentally stalking you.

~

The next morning, Lucien was gone before she even dragged herself out of bed. She was technically late, but she didn’t even care. Perk of being her own boss. 

Elain trudged around, getting ready slowly. It had been a long night. Even after her very cold shower, she hadn’t been able to clear her mind and relax. 

When she opened the door, she couldn’t repress her groan. Apparently, his face was stalking him in her head and real life.

“Long night?” he asked, a small, almost victorious smile on his face.

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously at that expression. She knew him well enough to know he was trying not to laugh. “Yes.”

“Same. Noisy neighbors.”

It took a few moments, but a furious blush exploded on her face as she realized what he was talking about. She knew the walls were thin, but... “Oh, my gods.”

He’d heard!

Oh, gods.

This was really, really bad. 

“Have fun?”

She glared at his annoyingly handsome face, barely resisting the urge to punch that smile away. “Yes. So much fun.”

She was, in fact, a dirty little liar. 

“Mmhm, sounded like it. All three minutes of it.”

An indignant sound escaped her, and he started to laugh. She ignored how lovely the sound was and chanted, “Shut up shut up shut up.”

“Not a chance.” He glanced down at her legs. “Hey, do you need help waking there? Or are you too sore from all that terrible se-”

She slapped a hand over his mouth, and he smiled under her fingers.

“You’re such an asshole,” she told him. “I love him. And he’s a great lover.”

The asshole just raised an eyebrow.

“Usually,” she amended. “He was tired.”

Gently, he pried her hand off his face. “I could be in a coma and do better than three minutes.”

“Pretty sure that’s illegal. And beyond disturbing.”

He smiled. “We going to work?”

Elain glared. “Only if you promise not to make any more comments about my sex life.”

“I haven’t made a single one!” He protested, still smirking. “I’ve been joking about the lack of your sex life, baby girl. Keep up.”

“Oh my gods,” she growled, pushing past him and yanking her door shut.

“At first, I didn’t even know what you guys were doing,” he told her, walking easily beside her as she stormed down the stairs and started down the empty sidewalk. “I heard his weird ass grunt and thought he was working out or something.”

She rolled her eyes.

“But then I heard you moan, and I-”

“I swear I’m going to kill you.”

“Anyway, I heard the boyfriend start snoring, so I figured the debacle was over. But I heard you again.” He smirked down at her. “Wanna tell me what you were doing over there?”

From the look on his face, he knew damn well what she was doing. “You-”

“No, I know you weren’t doing me. Would’ve been a lot louder if you were.”

Her glare could’ve frozen the Sahara. “I was going to say that you are the most annoying person I’ve ever met.”

The man just smiled, more than happy with himself today. Gods, he was insufferable. “I might be annoying, but at least I last longer than your little boyfriend.”

The way he said that made her jaw clench. What was it with the men in her life being completely useless today? It pissed her off. “Oh, I seriously doubt it.”

A dark, almost promising look crept into his hazel eyes, and he leaned down to murmur, “I promise you one thing, Elain. If I had you under me, I wouldn’t stop until you were screaming my name. Maybe not even then.”

She didn’t bother pointing out she didn’t even know his name.

Then he pulled away and smiled, and she noticed they were in front of her store. “Have a nice day, gorgeous.”

She was so fucked. 

_____________________________________________________________

To all my Lucien stands, I don’t really believe he’s complete shit in the sack (yes, yes I do), but I’m trying to write a story here, okay?

Part 3

@astreia-oniria @whimsyrhys @lameomclameo @wineywitch202 @thedarkdemigod @captainthefangirlofhp @elriel4life @queen-of-glass @courtofjurdan @nessiantho @texas-shaped-waffle-maker @stardelia @myshadowsingeraz @tswaney17 @illyriangarbage @nicerhero @fancycrowncat @perseusannabeth @cursebreaker29 @girl-who-reads-the-books @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @superspiritfestival @studyliketate @over300books @justgiu12 @maastrash @bamchickawowow @a-bit-of-a-cactus @aesthetics-11 @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @savemesoon8 @hizqueen4life @maybekindasortaace @poisonous00

[daimonhalos]

Alea iacta est

Part of Skephalo week! → Day 5 – Sacrifice

Read on Ao3!

Word Count: 1,941

Characters:BadBoyHalo, Skeppy, Puffy, Sam, Foolish. (minor/mentioned: Punz, Ponk, Ant and Hannah)

Pairing(s): Skephalo (you know the deal by now)

Warning(s):Angst, apparent(?) character death (it's up to interpretation), crying, war mention

Summary:The red banquet has come, and with it also discoveries. Because if people really wanted to know why Bad was so inclined to make the Crimson bloodvines thrive, then he was finally going to tell them.

A/N:Alternatively: how Bad snaps, deserved ♥. You know, reading the word sacrifice it's normal to always think of Skeppy. Decided to switch that connection in my mind :] you will see. Hope you enjoy!

✾

❝ Lean in, let go.

I feel fear for the very last time. ❞

« I- Just- Stop! »

Punz rose from his seat, flashing a threatening red-eyed look at Puffy, his hands pressing down on the table to sustain his body as he slightly leaned forwards. « I suggest you sit down, Puffy. » he brushed the handle of the only weapon he had kept at his side, one of the ones Bad had let them carry for the so-called security reasons.

She slowly shook her head, eyes lightly narrowed, disbelieving how far people she had known for so long had gone mad with …

With what, actually? There was no way they would all be doing this just to cause chaos, just for power. She knew it, to a certain extent, how the Crimson could attract you to it, but she knew if they had wanted it, they could've come to get that same power by themselves.

So there had to be a sort of light switch, something that just clicked and made it right in their brains to let it control them.

She looked at Foolish, who had a hand on her arm, expression somewhat sour, yet with no sign of malevolent intent. Foolish had always been the one to preach for peace: humans went and called for wars, shed blood and tears, hurt and grieved and solved little to nothing, only protracting those same wars for centuries. The world had become a war fought throughout the years with only a couple of moments of peace in between.

And Foolish? Well, he decided to learn the exact opposite. Problem solving without hurting people; that was why he had stated multiple times how the components of the Eggpire needed help.

With a single look that read “it's okay, it's not needed”, the god watched Puffy moving to slowly sit down.

« Stop, you say? »

Not noticing because of their silent conversation, the two snapped their heads towards the reserved table for the Eggpire members, placed in front of the other ones, so they could have a panoramic view on everyone: Bad had just spoken, hushing Punz to stay put as well the same way Foolish had done with Puffy.

The latter got back to her feet, her head tilted in both curiosity and carefulness.

« Now, why would you ever want to leave a party, my friend? » he left the table, aware of every guest's eyes on him, to stand on the opposite side of where the woman was seated. He crossed his arms, and Puffy swore she could've seen his eyes glow a brighter white than before for a moment. « You're not having fun, maybe? » he shifted his weight. « Or perhaps you'd like to say something? Remember … this is a bury the hatchet kind of deal, mh? »

« What are you hinting at, Bad? » Sam had been looking between the two, reading between the lines with uneasiness growing in his guts.

Bad glanced at him one moment. « Oh, I'm just saying … well, if you cross the Rubicon with armour and weapons on, it's only natural that you get attacked as well. »

Sam breathed out with effort, quickly scanning the room: Puffy and Bad were staring intently at each other, ready for either of them to make a move. Ant and Punz were both brandishing swords at their sides, standing at opposite borders of their table, eyes locked towards his direction. He met eyes for a second a little too long with Ponk, who was sitting still at the table, expression dull: he looked away when he saw him fiddling with the sleeve he had cut off since-

Hannah was also sitting with them, poor Hannah he had failed to save from the sting of the vines.

Guilt choked his breath before he could dwell in his failures longer. Looking away, he only shared confused and agitated glances with the other guests present.

Puffy brought a hand to her forehead. « I just- » she sighed deeply, then looked straight ahead of herself and directly into Bad's eyes with determination to fill in that little question mark in her head. « I've asked you before and you've deflected the question every time. You just talked about the Egg and how it's going to thrive and all of that, but all I ever asked out of you was knowing the reason why it should be so appealing to you. Why do you even need it, Bad? » as he made to talk, she pointed a finger towards him and cut him off one last time. « And don't even try to deviate by talking about the egg. I want to know about you. »

There was a moment in which he blinked rapidly, before his eyes settled on an undefined spot on the tablecloth beneath his fingertips. He didn't remember gripping at it. His vision had blurred a little, darkening, blending the objects' outlines together.

Everyone was waiting for his response.

He grinned, chuckled and looked back up at his long time friend. « Okay, Puffy. You want to know why I need it? » he took a step back, releasing the tablecloth. « That's funny, didn't you see it for yourself already? I could've sworn … I could've sworn you were there, how curious. » he brought a hand to his lips, sarcastically pensive, before he started walking closer towards the Crimson's side of the room. He motioned for his friends and guests to follow him.

« You see, everyone, there's actually one more reason why we wanted all of you here. Or, rather, a reason why I did. » he stood in front of the egg-shaped being before chewing the side of his cheek and bowing his head slightly downwards. « Puffy. I have tried. I have tried so many times to get him back. »

The way his voice started breaking the more he spoke brought back memories into her mind, memories of a friend that wasn't quite the same anymore. She didn't need clarification to know who he was talking about.

« But he wouldn't give a single sign of getting better, if not getting worse by the day. » he turned to face her again and she could now notice he did not only sound broken. « Skeppy would barely even recognize me, Puffy. How do you think that made me feel? »

As she tried to look for words, too shaken by how Bad had started to break and display his doleful reality for the first time, Sam stepped in. « Bad, that doesn't- that doesn't mean you needed to rely on this … thing to cure him! »

Bad shook his head, an uneasy smile settling on his face. « Oh Sam, no, surely not. But you know it, it speaks to you. It spoke to me. And you know what it told me, Sam? It told me it could get him back. » he took a shaky breath in. « Because it was what took him away from me. » he let out a grim laugh. « And it knew … it knew I would do anything to get him back to normal. And I just let it. » he shrugged, then opened his arms. « Because I tried by myself already. So, so many times. What else do I have to lose now? »

Shell shock.

« I appreciate any of you who tried to help. I appreciate who wanted to and didn't get to, yet. » he spared a glance to Foolish, who found himself conflicted about intervening already or not. « It's been … an interesting time. »

« Bad. » Foolish arched an eyebrow. « Why does this sound like a farewell? »

Bad chuckled under his breath. « Perceptive, as expected by someone with your experience. » he took some steps backwards, the vines practically touching his back. « You see, the Crimson has required sustenance throughout its life here. And sometimes what we bring … it's just not enough. »

Puffy widened her eyes. « Are you- »

« It's okay, Puffy. » he smiled sadly, leaning against the vines completely as they started making their way through his body. « As I said, I would do anything to get him back. »

And I have nothing left to lose.

The vines had a firm grip on his body already, when-

« Bad? » there Skeppy stood, right behind the crowd of people watching in horror as the Crimson dug its claws in his best friend's body.

Too late, too late, too- why would it release him now? Why would he give him the sweetness of certainty only to leave him with his panicked expression as his last memory of him?

His breath ran short, his lungs filled with everything but air, as he simply watched Skeppy, the real Skeppy try to run closer, to get to him, to save him again.

Bad reached for him, one arm extended towards him: barely able to breathe his name out, fingertips not even met one last time with the other, he disappeared beneath the vines, until there was nothing left of his form but a tear dropped to the ground.

« What ... » Skeppy's disbelief echoed in the silent room. « Where. Where did he go? » he turned towards the guests group. « Where did he go?! » he started yelling, fingers in fists so he could dig his nails in his palms instead of trying to tear the vines apart already.

He would've done that, surely, if they didn't ... scare him so much.

Antfrost took a step forward, visibly shaken, as though he had just woken up with a terrible headache. « He ... he didn't. Tell me he didn't. » his eyes, his blue eyes, only stared at the Crimson behind Skeppy.

« He didn't what?! »

« Give himself up. The Egg had wanted ... something more substantial. He ... he gave himself up. Instead of letting it harm any of you. »

Skeppy blinked twice, staring at Ant until his vision became spacey, were it for tears forming in his eyes or not he couldn't tell. He turned his back to everyone in the room and slowly lowered himself to sit on the ground, cautiously raising a hand to cover his mouth. He stared ahead of himself, barely blinking.

He was soon joined by Sam and Ant at his sides, their initial shock quietly fading as it was replaced by an overwhelming amount of distraught dolence.

Had they been asked afterwards, they wouldn't have been able to tell which had started sobbing first.

It was like a chain reaction, bit by bit, person by person, everyone either started crying or leaving, unable to bear another of the countless lost fights.

Bad wouldn't have blamed them.

Puffy felt herself being tugged away, finding Foolish at her side, surprisingly calm, an anchor she could have used right then.

She had no idea how he seemed so ... unaffected.

The truth was Foolish was just thinking and he really had just wanted to stop. Because he had looked at Bad's friends and recognized the hurt that he had witnessed so many times and how, if only he had known what was about to happen, he could've prevented it.

He had reached for Skeppy's arm, to try and comfort him, and had noticed how badly he was shaking, trying to keep the worst emotions inside.

And really, he just wished he could have helped more.

He really hoped Bad had held the totem he had given him tight.

[thesouthernpansy]

your hand, my hand (to hold it)

artemy burakh/daniil dankovsky

2,556 words

(here on ao3)

Dankovsky stands at the top of the staircase in his shirtsleeves. He's changed, again, from the last time you saw him, his eyes darker and his jaw weaker, but he takes your hands in his cool, gloved palms and tuts in that same distant, put-upon way he has.

“When was the last time you cleaned your fingernails?”

Even in pitch darkness, with your eyes closed, you could find your way back to him by his scolding.

“I think I have a few crumbs under there, I was saving them for later.”

Dankovsky tsks, not without humor. “I expect you'll try to convince me it's economical. Are you hungry? I have some bread and—well, I've been told it's trout, but who can tell these days. Some kind of smoked fish. It's yours if you'll wash up. Quid pro quo.”

Are you hungry? You wonder at his formality; you've been hungry for days.

His back is to you while he digs through his doctor's bag, the blades of his shoulders, the knife of his spine. Your fingers itch with the urge to touch, to run the pad of your thumb against his angles like it could draw blood.

“The townspeople are finally rubbing off on you, huh?”

Distracted thought creases a line between Dankovsky's brows. “Ah, the local bartering custom. You'll have to more fully explain the precise mechanics of the process to me at some point.”

It's heartening and unexpected progress, from him, the admission—the interest—though you refrain from saying as much.

True to his word, he sets out a generous heel of bread and paper-wrapped package bleeding fish-smelling oil. Leans his hip against the edge of the desk, crossing his arms across his narrow chest. The fine visible bones of his wrist, the pale exposed forearm, you could close your whole fist around them with space to spare.

“Where did all this come from, anyway? The Kains?”

Dankovsky stills, a sudden subtle tenseness, his gloves drawn tight across the knuckles.

“The doctor's fund,” he says shortly.

“Ah.” Guilt seeps through to tangle with the warmer sensation rising in your chest.

Dankovsky gestures dismissively, turning away. “Don't give me that martyred expression. You come to the hospital or you don't, all that's important is that progress is being made on the vaccine.”

“The panacea,” you correct him.

“Suum cuique. Do we have a deal or don't we?”

“The healer's hands are always bloodiest,” you say, half teasing.

Dankovsky satisfies it with a long-suffering sigh. “Don't you mean muddiest? By the looks of it you've been up to your elbows looking for your steppe herbs all morning.”

Always your herbs, an arrogant dismissal as if he doesn't by now have ample first-hand experience with the effectiveness of your painkillers, at least. It frustrates him doubly, you've gathered in time, that you insist on wasting your time with flowers rather than focus on the infinitely more practical and productive collection of infected human samples that Dankovsky continues to find himself unanimously denied.

Silence settles between you with gauzy tangibility, like the pest-thick air of the infected Bridge Square, grey-green and swimming-still.

An idea comes to you. Against the growing distance you lift your grime-streaked hands, palms open, up.

“With this I give you company. The road you walk is dangerous, but you don't walk it alone. I go with you, my help and my guidance.”

“Your guidance,” says Dankovsky, mostly to himself.

“What do you give me, oynon?”

Movement at the corner of his mouth. “Food. I had thought I made that clear.”

“A thing can be more than it is, more than an object to take up space in your hand. To give and take is to connect, a feeling or intention, or...” you falter, trying to remember. “Warmth. Kindness.”

Dankovsky bites out a laugh at that, harsh and short. “Kindness? In this town?”

“Comfort,” you persist. “Joy.”

“Nothing anyone has given me in this town has brought me joy.” He stops to look at you, then, though, to truly look. “I ought to give you rest, if I thought that you would take it.”

“You'd have to have it, first, to give it away.” Both of you well aware that this is the closest to rest you're likely to get today, and even that more than either of you can really afford.

Dankovsky turns towards the window, his jawline a taut cord of tension. His profile backlit with sickly light, casting him angular, severe, the unexpected stranger in the near-dark of Rubin's rooms. Near the hollow of his throat, the shadow of dark unshaven stubble, like a bruise.

“For all that it matters. What's the actual purpose of this asinine exercise?”

“I told you—” You reach out; his hair curls damply by his ear, the pulse quickening beneath your fingertips. “It's about connection.”

Prickling, “Warmth, yes, I remember. Here—”

He takes your wrist. Then, from the little shaving kit on the windowsill, a thin wedge of soap, soft from use. Presses it into your hand.

“Take...care.”

You have held human hearts in your hands, before—hot, and with the echo of beating still in them. Maybe this is nothing like that, but it echoes all the same.

“Thank you, oynon.”

“You're welcome...emshen.” At your smirk, “What? Didn't I pronounce it correctly?”

You shake your head, laughter on your tongue. “It's the vowels. They're tricky, if you didn't grow up with the language.”

“Don't you patronize me.” He swats you away and goes, muttering the word under his breath, to collect a washbasin and pitcher from beneath the bed. They're a matched set, not poor quality but plainly in disrepair, the enamel pattern chipped and cloudy. Dankovsky sloshes the basin half-full, notices your watching.

“Concerns, Burakh?”

“No, it looks clean.”

“Of course it's clean. I saw to its collection personally. Eva has been surprisingly diligent about boiling all the water she can gets her hands on, as well, for whatever good it does.”

“Cholera dies in boiled water,” you say absently. For a brief, suspended moment in Dankovsky's place you see the frightened woman in the Flank, her flat terrified eyes, her trembling fists.

Dankovsky frowns in dim recognition. “Someone else told me that recently. I can't recall who it was.”

“Maybe it was a dream.” Quick, careful efficiency as you strip away enough of your soiled smock to bare your arms.

“I have been having the strangest dreams,” he admits, voice soft. “Ever since I arrived here. I dream about walking, mostly, out across the steppe. I'm up to my knees in water and trying to reach something on the very edge of the horizon, or perhaps it's the horizon itself? And the sky is always red, dark red like blood, and I can feel in my bones that something is missing, as though the moon might not be there if I could think to look for it.”

Frown deepening, he shakes his head as if to clear the image. “In any case, perhaps it was a dream, then. I've been experiencing a great deal of déjàvu lately.”

The basin water murkies like a pre-storm dawn, greying lather sloughed away with the days' mud and blood and sweat. Like peeling back dead skin to see something fresh and pink underneath, new nerve endings, raw and receptive. It feels wrong, somehow. Dark water, clean hands.

“How do you imagine the Town will think of you when this is all over, after you're gone?”

“I don't,” says Dankovsky, clipped. “There are far more consequential matters that call for my attention. Who has time to worry about the opinions of small minds, with so much to do?”

Sanctimonious bastard.

“I do.” Gripping the edges of the washbasin like you could snap it in two, satisfying in the imagined sound of shattering, Dankovsky's startled expression, a rush of movement across the Stillwater's floorboards.

“Well, it's different for you, obviously. Being a local.”

You step away, scrubbing wet hands across your face. “I'm glad at least someone thinks that of me.”

Anger ebbs away in the ensuing silence. Then, the staccato click of Dankovsky's polished shoes accompanied by the faint sough of cloth. A towel, threadbare and yellowed, held like a surrender. You acquiesce, and Dankovsky pointedly avoids your gaze as he dries your hands with studious care.

“If you're...unsatisfied, here, you could always come to the Capital with me, when I return. Thanatica, or whatever's left of it, could benefit from your...unique perspective.”

His right hand in your left, points of articulation lined up—palm, wrist, knuckle, rib—and a warm thrum under your skin, heady and thick, like twyre bloom.

“That's a generous offer, oynon. You're right, though, I am a local. My place is here.”

“Yes,” he says. “well. I won't try to change your mind, if you're—”

“You could stay.”

Sudden, startled offense and dazed uncomprehending, Dankovsky's expression caught halfway between a sneer and something terrified. Defensive, cornered.

“I—here? No, what would I even—? No, no, I can't.”

“If you say so. I'll probably try to change your mind. Not right now. Later, when it matters.”

Dankovsky's eyes are sharp when they meet yours, lit with keen, unmasked curiosity. The full weight of his attention pierces like a pin punched through a beetle's jeweled carapace for display. A bright spot of pain in your chest, velvet at your back.

“You won't,” he says, weight in his words so you could almost see them falling out, bitten clean.

Fondness blooms in you at the thawing unease with which he holds himself, like a man who has forgotten how to be warm coming in from the cold. Reticent in a reluctant, guarded way you recognize, of all people, from Murky.

“I'll try anyway.”

A thin, unsteady laugh, reedy and nasal, and thenhe softens, all at once, deflating slightly, like a weight borne across his shoulders has been lifted free from him.

“Just so. Dum spiro, spero.”

“I don't know what that means.”

“I think you know,” he says carefully, “enough.”

Clearly, like a memory in your mind's eyes you see yourself kissing him, again and again, harsh and then tender, then tenderer still—the copper of blood on your teeth, the hazy, cooling steppe at dusk, the terrible sweet fever smell you know so well—a rush, like wind, like falling from a height, and here, constant, the place where the parallel nets of your lives snag and tangle.

Which is to say: what follows flows with the ease of the inevitable.

Dankovsky looks up, you look down.

The two of you meet in the middle.

The kiss starts slow, chaste and unsure and so nice; a pleased, helpless little sound escapes from you before you can think to stop it, and you feel Dankovsky's lips part slightly to form some wry response. You take it as an invitation, licking into the heat of his mouth, fingers threaded in the short hair at the nape of his neck. He shudders against you and moans, hitched breath and a deep, dreamy sigh that resonates like struck steel, pools low in your gut, molten and dark. Grasping, his hands find your waist, slide upwards to reel you close and keep you there.

Against your palm, the rabbit-pace of his pulse. Yours, sheltered against it. Dankovsky kisses you in the dim, stale Stillwater, and you think, the left and right hand. You think, yes.

Understanding: you are separate things like two hairs on a bull's back are separate, his heartbeat ending where yours begins without distinction. In the shared breaths caught between you, it's easy to believe that you could choose this—one vast, drumming heartbeat, one fast, endless line, strung through you soft and whole, tying indelibly together what you've feared would be inevitably torn apart. That after loss, losing, knowing what might still be lost, you could carve a harbor in the quiet and keep it shielded because you wanted it enough.

Behind you, the clock chimes the new hour. The adrenaline pumping in your blood start to sour.

“Fuck,” says Dankovsky, teeth scraping your lip.

You swallow thickly. “Is it two already?”

“Three, I think.” Focused on a point past your shoulder, his hands still under your shirt and his eyes already terribly far away.

“Shudkher.”

“You have somewhere else need to be.”

“I—yes.”

He nods, stepping away. His warmth goes with him. Clearing his throat, righting his clothes, you watch his expression shutter closed and feel like a limb that has been too long in a cast, pallid and shriveled and weak. Regret twists its clammy thorns around your heart, but there's nothing you can apologize for, nothing that it would fix.

“I'm sorry,” you say anyway.

Dankovsky shakes his head. “What for? Unless you're responsible for this whole wretched plague I can't accept that from you. And if you are responsible I wouldn't accept it it anyway, my reaction would be the furthest thing from forgiveness. Besides, it isn't as though I don't have work of my own to do.”

He recovers your discarded smock from the floor, gives it a vigorous shake. You take it from him, and he promptly busies himself elsewhere while you redress, the conspicuous return to silence aching in your joints like the promise of rain.

Dankovsky breaks it first. “Here, can you carry this?”

A hastily-wrapped parcel of waxed canvas, secured with a pair of safety pins that recently-acquired instinct hones in on immediately—that girl by the Trammel had been looking for pins, and she'd had a fingernail coin she was willing to trade—so that full focus returns with the thing in your hands and a stiff, dour set to Dankovsky's shoulders, the pull of his mouth. Unreachable, resigned.

“What is it?”

“My side of our bargain.” Hesitant, almost amused. “You didn't think I'd try to rescind our deal just because you can't stay for tea. Tell me you'll remember to eat it before it spoils.”

“I'll do my best.” Shifting aside bundles of twyre to tuck the food into your bag, as if you won't be tearing it open again as soon as you're outside.

“See that you do. I...be careful out there, Burakh.”

“You too, oynon.”

A fluid moment, blood pulled through the chambers of a heart, singing and open like the bare vein of Mother Boddho at the base of a tree. Pregnant with the promise of movement, the exposed unspoken, a restlessness that settles, itching, into the red of your marrow.

You wonder if Dankovsky would let you kiss him goodbye.

“Did you need something else, or are you just going to stand there hulking behind me while I work?”

The skin of tension splits, relief trickling out in a thin line.

“I'm going, I'm going, no need to force me out.”

“As if I could.” The formality of irritation over unmistakable affection.

You reach out and take his hand. Dankovsky watches warily, frowning as you peel back the edge of the clean black glove, but makes no move to stop you. The bare cradle of his palm still smells faintly of leather when you curve towards it, pressing your lips against the skin.

Dankovsky's eyes don't leave you even after you release him, fingers curling closed.

“Warmth,” he says softly, “yes, I see.”

[bozowrites]

Dare to Care

Imagine

↳ There is always going to be a drift in society and no one can fix it. 

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki × Fem!Reader

TW: None.

Word Count: 1.7k

Part 1 // more to come...

A/n: I have a lot of asks but I got rlly inspired to write this last night. It’ll be multiple parts so if u actually like this u can be added to the taglist, just comment or dm me or whatever. Love you, darlings! 💞

In our society, there are separations whether we like them or not. There is absolutely nothing you can do about it. And that’s what sucks. I want nothing more than to patch up the hole that was put between us and them. To fix the broken world that we’ve come to call home. It isn’t home. Nowhere is home when all is broken around you, and I’ve come to terms with that.  

There are the heroes, the civilians and the villains. Then there’s the rich, the middle-class and the poor. Simple words can create a huge drift in society.  

Some think they are above others for the simple fact they have a title. A hero. A well-known hero that all love and adore. And then some rich think they are better for the reason is they have money; they have the power to do whatever they want because of that money. Money buys you the things you need, even love, apparently.  

I grew up to solely believe this. I was beneath them and they were above all. I worked for what I needed as they got handed their things on silver platters.  

My mother worked two jobs on minimum wage every day and made just enough to pass us buy. Some stood pretty for a camera and made thousands—millions even! It’s ridicules, really. Or, maybe, that's just jealousy speaking.  

All I want is to be known as someone for working hard and give my single, hard-working mom, a break. To rest and never stress again. To take care of her. To never let her fear of being too little for me. I want to be her hero.  

“How many times do I have to say it? I didn’t order the this.” The woman of high-class spoke rudely. “I’m sorry, ma'am, but that’s what the receipt and your waiter told me.” Her lips scowl and her growl is more evident. This restaurant is full of people like her. Spoiled brats. “Well your waiter is wrong!” I sighed, losing grip of my temper slowly.

“Perhaps, one of the men behind you ordered it,” I said slowly, gesturing to the three men in matching tuxedos behind her. “You did leave the table to talk with a friend, I do believe. Just enough time for one of them to order something behind your back.” My tone was impatient and I knew this was no way to act, but people like her hit all the wrong nerves.

“Are you using that tone with me? And disrespecting my brothers?!” The pit of anger in the bottom of my stomach started bubbling. She thought she was so much better because her dad owned some company and held high status. She didn’t, just her father. He made the life he did through his hard-work, she just feeds off his hard-earned prize.  

And that’s what disgusts me.  

“Dear, they need you in the kitchen, I’ll take care of the rest.” Miss Masmai said with a gentle hand on my shoulder. She always did that. When someone was angry or upset in any way, she put a hand on their shoulder and spoke with a gentle tone. She was this sweet lady, near her fifties, who worked alongside her brother in this restaurant.  

“Thank you, miss.” I gave a knowing nod and left to the kitchen. It was obvious my anger was rising and Miss Masami knew that. She always saw right through me. I don’t know how, though I wish I did.  

“L/n, get angry again?” My co-corkers always did that. I was known to get angry quickly. I’d accepted that a long time ago, though it doesn’t feel good hearing people say it constantly. “Shut it, Tsukishima.” The tall blonde only smirked and continued away at cooking.  

My body felt exhausted. It was hard being an adult. I knew that since I was just a little girl. I didn’t get to play house and make endless friends—no—I spent every night crying in bed, hearing my mom mutter through the thin walls of how to pay the bills, how to feed me, how to get through the next month. It was painful. I always felt the drift between society and me grow. My life became consumed by the thoughts of suffering and never getting by. I let my little mind think that money divided everyone, I still believe it. Most people I meet do too.  

“L/n, can I speak to you?” I glanced over to Mister Masami. He has this dark glare. Unlike his sister, he holds no patience and doesn’t believe in second chances. Because of his sister, and only because of her, I’ve lasted as long as I have. He says I have anger issues. I don’t. It’s my lack of social skills mixed with bottled up fear and frustration.  

“Mister Masami? How may I help you?” I asked nicely, though he and I both know it was forced. He and I were never on good terms. “You’ve reached your last straw, you’re fired. They are important people who visit nearly every week, and you disrespected them.” I scowled. “Fine. Have a nice day, Mister Masami.” As I take off the black apron and toss it at him, I muttered, “Asshole.” He doesn’t respond, but I know he’s biting his tongue to re-frame from doing so.  

As I leave through the backdoor, I can hear some co-workers chuckling and talking among themselves happily. I didn’t know if it was over my leave or for something completely different. It didn’t matter, really.

It’s nearly midnight when I finish my shift at the local café by my apartment. I work three jobs (well two now), never really having time to myself. That’s the life of a poor adult, I guess. When I reached the age to be able to work, I did. Mom didn’t like it, of course she didn’t, but it wasn’t up to her. I wanted to help. She needed my help.  

There’s a sudden cold chill in the air. I’ve walked this path a million times before and I’ve never had this fear to walk this way. The sudden uncomfortable atmosphere around me is frightening. I glanced around, only seeing the dark streets. There were only three lampposts here and each was dime, giving only small portions of light. Even the street lamps in this poor area sucked.  

“Fuck you heroes!” A voice shouted. I felt my whole-body shake. I've seen the news of villain attacks, but I’ve never been in the same area or around long enough to see the action.  

“And fuck you villains!” The supposed hero shouted back. I leant against the brick wall, trying to keep myself hidden. I could see flashes and hear the blasts close by. It was terrifying. The closer the sounds came, the more my body shook. I wouldn’t be surprised if the entire neighbourhood woke up, actually, I'd be surprised if the entire neighbourhood didn’t wake up.  

The sudden flashes are crossing my eyes. The small blasts of explosions and the loud voices are ringing in my ears louder. I can feel the heat created by each and individual explosion. I don’t know if it’s the villain or the hero’s quirk, but I didn’t plan on sticking around to find out.

I let my feet run to my apartment as fast as one can, but it wasn’t enough. A cold hand grabbed my arm. I knew it wouldn’t be the hero’s, why would it be? There’s this sudden cold object put to my neck and my vision is set to a blonde staring at the villain and myself with glaring eyes.  

“Let them go, villain.” The tone he sets is cold. I can tell he doesn’t care about me. I mean nothing to a high-status hero. All he wants is to keep his legacy as a hero clean. He saved another helpless civilian, all will say. Doesn’t make him good. There could be so many other things the press and public don’t know, but all they care to see is the heroism he displays. Makes me sick.  

“Why would I? I think her blood would look real good in my hands.” Her voice is chilling to the ear and I can feel the breaths she takes. Her fingers are digging into my waist and a knife floats midair in front of my throat. I hate every part of this. Her nails are long, making blood seep through the fabric of my clothes. I can feel the warmness against my skin. It’s not a lot, but enough to hurt.  

I don’t say anything through all the banter they shout at one another. I only stand there and stare at the hero. He doesn’t spare me a glance or show worry. It really says something about himself. He doesn’t care about no one but himself. Maybe I was getting ahead of myself, but I’ve come to read others through their small actions and words.  

I was so in my head; I hardly felt the gash against my cheek as the blonde hero took the villain down. My mind processed slowly as I saw him pick her off the ground, her mumbles inaudible.  

“You good?” There’s no sympathy in his voice. There’s no care or worry. It was nothing but hero intake. He has to, he was an idol to lots. And what kind of idol doesn’t ask the victim if they’re all right?  

I can only nod wordlessly. Both his and my stare are blank. He still has the villain in his grab, but there’s this shift in the atmosphere. I don’t know what it is, but I don’t take the time to question it.  

“You’re bleeding.” He said, voice rough and toneless. I touch the burning cheek. I didn’t feel the pain at the start, but the more I thought of it, the more it hurt. How did I get cut? When? Why? “Oh,” I see the blood on my fingers. My side begins to hurt too. I remember the nails and blood. I don’t think he knows and that doesn’t bother me.  

I shrugged and said, “Uh, thanks. Bye.” I turned, having nothing left to say. I know he’s staring at me. I can feel the burn of his eyes on my head. He’s probably questioning me silently.

Why didn’t I fawn over him? Why didn’t I praise him? Why didn’t I stay to speak?

Most heroes get so into it, they forget the reason they became a hero. To save people, they say at the start. But, in the end, they want the praise and only the praise. When they don’t get what they desire, things don’t always go well for those around them.