#trying something i normally wouldn't with it

[spencersmopbucket]

Soul Ache | Draco Malfoy

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Reader Summary: You simply can't stay an ex when you're the only one Draco has every truly loved. Plus.. You just don't look as good with a Gryffindor. Themes & Warnings: jealous!Draco, possessive!Draco, yearning, fluff, oh my god so much tension, swearing, SMUT (EATING, fingering, messy stuff, p in v), angst KIND OF with resolution.

It was a dream at first.

So many had been trying to get a chance at Draco for years. He was everything a girl could want. Handsome, rich, respected, talented. But he never looked at the ones that fell at his feet. Oddly, for someone who life came so easily to, he was looking for a challenge. S conquest. Something to achieve and be proud of.

You were it, of course. Your feistiness, your drive, your refusal to flop before a man and beg him to be the one that puts a ring on your finger. You respected yourself, which was one of the key differences between you and the other girls and what made you so appealing to Draco. One would think, looking at Draco Malfoy, that he wouldn't want someone capable of standing up for themself, someone who was stubborn.. But falling for you was so quick. It was effortless.

It was just getting you to fall back that was the hard part.

After months of distanced courting, you finally allowed Draco to hold your hand in the hallways, to scare off whoever bothered you, and to drape his scarves and cloaks over your shoulders when you were stared at a little too hard. You ran your hands through his icy blonde hair in the shimmering moonlight at the Astronomy Tower, lips urgently crashing against his in an attempt to understand how in love you were.

Draco was so much deeper than what others saw. He was capable of love, love so deep that you almost drowned.

You were the one thing Draco Malfoy had ever fought for. But he didn't know how to keep you.

It wasn't cheating, not really. Not in the physical sense. But there were letters, there were promises made to people who could help his family, whispered arrangements you stumbled upon because Draco didn't bother to lock his desk one day.

A favor here, a compromise there, all of it threaded through with flirtation. Not love -- he was firm on that. It was never love. But you didn’t care about the technicalities.

You cared that while you were fighting for him, he was negotiating with other girls like you were an inconvenience.

It ended in his dorm. You were standing by his desk with the crumpled parchment in your hand, breathing hard.

“So this is how you do it, huh?” you spat, voice shaking. “You secure your family’s precious alliances by whoring out your attention to anyone who’ll help you?”

He went pale, grey eyes sharp with something that wasn’t guilt yet, just fear of being caught.

“It isn’t like that, love. You know it isn’t. Don’t be fucking dramatic--”

“Don’t you dare tell me how to feel about this, Draco.”

He reached for you and you stepped back, the paper crumpling tighter in your fist.

“It’s strategy,” he hissed. “My father expects--”

“I don’t give a fuck about your father!”

Your voice broke on the last word. He flinched like you’d slapped him.

“You knew what they were asking me to do,” he said, quieter. Almost desperate. “You knew. And you--you were supposed to understand. I need this. For us. For my family.”

“I was supposed to understand you humiliating me? You promising things to other girls while you’re with me? No.”

Silence filled the space between you like poison.

“Then leave,” he whispered.

“I’m already gone.”

You tossed the letter at him. He didn’t even try to catch it.

You left before you could see if he broke.

The feeling of your absence hit Draco like a ton of bricks to the stomach. In every silence, in everyday's classes, in the nights at the Astronomy Tower that he spent alone when you'd normally be there next to him, keeping his cold skin warm.

He didn’t eat much. Didn’t speak unless spoken to. Even Pansy stopped trying after a while, realizing he wasn’t moody -- he was wrecked.

He cried, but only where no one could hear him. Silent, hoarse sobs with a fist pressed to his mouth to muffle the sound. His voice started to vanish -- raw and strained from nights spent whispering your name into the dark, pleading with a version of you that would never answer.

He still carried your favorite quill in his satchel. Still flinched every time he saw someone wearing a scarf like yours. Still instinctively turned his head when he heard your laugh, only to remember it wasn’t his anymore.

The worst part wasn’t losing you. It was knowing he’d done it to himself. It was knowing that he'd lost a planned future with the only girl he'd ever loved because he couldn't prioritize loyalty.

And you?

You were strong. Just like he knew you'd be. You definitely weren't joyful without him, but you never cried or complained. You sat with a straight face, entire body set in stone, refusing to acknowledge his existence.

You just stopped speaking his name.

You sat in class with your head high and your eyes blank. When the professor called on you, your voice was steady, cold. Even as your heart clenched at the thought of him across the room, trying not to look at you but always failing.

You didn’t cry. Not where anyone could see. Not even when you were alone. It felt like crying would make it real, and you refused to give him that.

You sat in the Great Hall with your friends, ignoring the way he watched you from the other end of the table, silver eyes glassy and furious. You ate meals you could barely swallow.

Your posture was perfect. Your uniform immaculate. You made yourself untouchable. A fortress he could never breach again.

You were like this, never laughing, never expressing an ounce of joy.. Until Oliver Wood sauntered up to you.

The Great Hall's attention was immediately commanded. Whispers spread. Eyes focused onto you and the approaching Gryffindor boy.

“What's the bloody idiot doing?”

“Oh, shite. He's off to speak to Y/N!”

“I pity that poor bloke.”

Draco’s fork stopped halfway to his mouth. He didn’t even blink. Just stared, silver eyes sharpening to knives.

You felt it too, the shift. The sudden heat of so many eyes on you. You kept your spine straight, fingers curling around your goblet, refusing to give them a show.

But Oliver didn’t seem to care about the audience. He grinned at you, easy and genuine.

He cracked a fucking joke.

And you burst into laughter. For the first time in months.

Not polite, tight-lipped laughter, but real, unstoppable laughter that shook your shoulders and made you cover your mouth too late to hide it.

The entire Hall went dead silent for a beat.

Draco’s fork fell from his fingers and clattered onto his plate.

He didn’t pick it up. Didn’t move. Just watched you, frozen, the look in his eyes murderous and wrecked all at once.

And for the first time since you’d left him, you didn’t care.

The following weeks were fantastic, but grueling for Draco. You went to Oliver's games, despite being talked about for “dating” a Gryffindor. You went to Hogsmeade, ignoring Draco and his friends in favor of sipping butterbeer and people watching with Oliver.

Every time Draco saw the two of you, he wound tighter and tighter. The jealousy, the anguish, the rage, it mixed together inside of him, creating a storm. Draco normally felt things strongly, but this? This was something different. He knew it was his fault. But the anger blinded him. It refused to let him rationalize. After years of you being his, he was forced to see you prance around with some stupid fucking Gryffindor jock.

Today, you stood in the hall with Oliver and his friends, giggling. The afternoon sun streamed through the castle windows, catching in your hair, making you look infuriatingly radiant to the boy sulking far down the corridor, fists in his pockets, eyes fixed on you like a curse.

But you didn’t notice Draco right now. Or if you did, you didn’t care.

Oliver’s arm was draped lazily across your shoulders, not possessive but comfortable, like you’d known each other forever. His friends were chuckling about some disastrous practice session.

Oliver turned his head to you, eyes bright with mischief.

“Come on, back me up here, Y/N,” he urged, lips curling. “I told them it wasn’t my fault the Bludger nearly took my head off. Clearly it was Bletchley’s shite aim.”

You snorted. Loudly enough that a couple of younger students turned to look.

“Mhm. Right. Because you’re so good at dodging,” you teased, nudging his side with your elbow.

He gave a wounded gasp, clutching at his chest with over-the-top dramatics.

“You wound me,” he declared. “I ask for backup and I get betrayal. Traitor.”

You just grinned wider.

“I’m not your lawyer, Wood. I only deal in facts.”

Oliver’s friends burst out laughing. One of them clapped you on the shoulder, saying, “She’s got you there, mate.”

Oliver shook his head in mock exasperation, but he was beaming at you. Really looking at you, like you were a person and not a prize.

“Fine. Fine,” he relented, squeezing your shoulders lightly. “But you’re still coming to the next match, yeah? Can’t have my lucky charm backing out now.”

Your lips twitched, warmer now, the fortress cracking just a little.

“I’ll be there,” you said softly, holding his gaze.

He grinned. The whole group cheered and jostled you both, making you laugh even harder.

And down the corridor, Draco Malfoy watched it all.

Eyes black with jealousy.

Teeth grinding.

Heart breaking in slow, unstoppable motion.

Draco stormed into the Slytherin common room, robes billowing behind him like some furious bat. He dropped his bag with a thud and didn’t sit, just prowled in front of the fire, breathing hard.

Crabbe and Goyle exchanged a wary glance. Blaise Zabini lounged in an armchair, one brow raised in silent judgment. Pansy sat cross-legged on the green velvet sofa, pretending to read.

“She was laughing,” Draco snapped, voice clipped and tight. “With him. That fucking git.”

Pansy didn’t even glance up.

“Yes, Draco, we all saw. Whole sodding corridor did.”

Draco’s eyes flashed.

“She’s doing it on purpose, Pans. Parading him around. Acting like she’s over it.”

“Maybe she is,” Blaise drawled lazily, studying his nails. “Who can blame her?”

Draco rounded on him.

“Don’t start, Zabini.”

Blaise smirked, infuriatingly calm.

“Mate, you humiliated her. You expect her to mope forever? She’s got Wood now. Big, dumb Gryffindor with a shiny Quidditch badge. She’s moved on.”

Draco’s jaw worked furiously.

“That’s not what happened, you bloody prick. Watch your mouth before I--”

Pansy snapped her book shut with a crack.

“You wrote letters to other girls. Promises, Draco. She found them. What did you think she’d do?”

Goyle grunted in agreement.

“Yeah, s’not great, mate.”

Draco’s glare could have melted glass.

“He had his arm around her today.”

The words dripped poison.

Silence fell. Even Blaise stopped smirking.

“Like she was his,” Draco spat, voice cracking despite his best efforts. “Like she belonged to him. She's mine. Always has been.”

Crabbe shifted uncomfortably.

“We could... y’know. Sort him out.”

Draco barked a humourless laugh.

“Yeah? Brilliant plan, that. Hexing Wood so she can really hate me. Genius.”

Pansy exhaled in frustration.

“So what are you going to do?”

He didn’t answer straight away. Just stared into the fire, shoulders tense, breath coming short. Then, without another word, he left again, grey eyes hardened and focused.

He knew where he'd find you. Right at the Quidditch field, under the lights, watching that idiotic git and his dumb friends practice Quidditch 24/7. You were going to talk to him. He was done being ignored, done stewing in his own misery. He didn't care if he had to drag you off the field.

The grass could have fried below his feet. Draco was fuming.

He crossed the grounds at a furious pace, cloak snapping in the night wind. The chill didn’t even touch him, he was burning from the inside out.

As the pitch came into view, he could already hear them: shouts, laughter, Wood’s barking orders like he owned the place. He spotted the glint of red and gold circling overhead, Bludgers cracking against bats.

And there you were.

Exactly where he’d known you’d be.

Perched on the stands, arms resting on your knees, chin propped in your hand. Watching them. Watching him.

You laughed at something Oliver yelled from the air. It wasn’t even a good joke. Draco could tell from here. He could feel his blood boil at the sound, your laugh, something he hadn’t heard in weeks except for that humiliating first time in the Hall.

He slowed only once, boots crunching on the grass. Took a deep breath that didn’t help at all.

Then he climbed the stands two at a time.

“Oi! Malfoy!”

A couple of Gryffindor Beaters noticed him first, scowling, voices carrying across the pitch.

Draco ignored them completely. His eyes were locked on you.

“Y/N.”

Your name came out like a snarl, low and tight, all his careful composure finally snapping.

You turned slowly, brows lifting in cool, deliberate surprise.

“What do you want, Malfoy?”

The use of his surname sliced at him worse than any hex.

He didn’t answer immediately. Just stared at you, really looked at you. The curve of your mouth still turned from that stupid laugh, your hair mussed by the wind, the Gryffindor scarf someone had given you wrapped around your neck.

His fists clenched at his sides.

“Get down.”

You blinked once.

“I’m sorry?”

His voice was colder, but it trembled.

“I said get the fuck down here. Now.”

That got the whole team’s attention. Oliver was already landing, broom braced against his shoulder, face thunderous.

“Oi, Malfoy, back off. Get your arse off my pitch.”

Draco didn’t even look at him.

“This isn’t about you, Wood. Piss off.”

He only had eyes for you.

“We’re talking. Now. I don’t give a shit if I have to drag you.”

Your friends shifted beside you, uncertain, glancing between the furious Slytherin and the Gryffindor captain who looked one word away from lunging.

But Draco didn’t move toward Oliver.

He just waited.

Jaw locked.

Chest heaving.

Grey eyes shining with rage, hurt, and something that looked terrifyingly close to begging.

“Draco..” You said, your eyes fighting the urge to soften. You glanced at Oliver, who's fists squeezed together in readiness. “This really isn't the time or place.”

His teeth gritted.

“I don't care.”

Draco’s voice was raw, stripped of all its usual arrogance.

“Five minutes,” he bit out. “That’s all I’m asking.”

You hesitated, glancing at Oliver, who was already stepping forward, his grip tightening on his broom.

“Y/N, you don’t have to--”

“It’s fine,” you said quietly, standing.

Oliver’s jaw tensed. “Like hell it is, lass.”

You shot him a look, let me handle this, and he exhaled sharply but didn’t stop you as you descended the stands.

Draco didn’t move, didn’t even breathe, until you were right in front of him.

Then he grabbed your wrist and yanked you toward the edge of the pitch, away from prying eyes.

You stumbled, hissing, “Draco--stop--”

He didn’t. Not until you were hidden behind the stands, the shadows swallowing you both. Then he whirled on you, his grip on your wrist unrelenting.

His eyes could've set off a grenade.

Cold fingers gripped at the scarf around your neck, immediately unraveling it.

“Get this ugly thing off from you. Christ. Can't even fucking talk while I'm looking at it.” He said, managing to rip the Gryffindor scarf off from you, grimacing in pure disgust. “One could seriously wonder if you were a house traitor.”

Draco’s voice was a low snarl as he tossed the scarlet-and-gold scarf aside like it was cursed.

“There,” he bit out, his fingers flexing at his sides as if resisting the urge to touch you again. “Now you look like yourself again.”

You stared at him, chest rising and falling with unsteady breaths.

“You don’t get to decide what I wear,” you snapped.

Draco stepped closer, his body caging you against the wooden beams of the stands. The scent of him, crisp apples and winter air, flooded your senses, familiar and infuriating. His grey eyes searched yours desperately, looking for a single trace of affection.

“I meant nothing to you then? The years spent with me meant nothing?” He spat.

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding painfully in your chest. The ache of his words cut deeper than you expected.

“I never said that,” you breathed, voice barely steady. “You don’t get to claim my past like that. You--”

His jaw tightened, eyes darkening with frustration and pain.

“Don’t twist my words, Y/N.”

You met his gaze, fierce despite the trembling inside.

“You meant everything. Every-fucking-thing,” you hissed, biting back tears that you'd done so well to fight for months. “But there was nothing left when you decided that family matters were more important.”

Draco flinched like you’d slapped him. His nostrils flared, breath coming in ragged, furious bursts.

“That’s not fair,” he ground out, voice cracking despite the venom. “You think I wanted any of that? You think I liked doing it?”

Your eyes flashed, hot tears finally spilling over, but you didn’t back down an inch.

“You did it anyway.”

His mouth opened, then shut, words failing him. His hands hovered at his sides, fingers curling and uncurling like he was fighting not to grab you and shake you.

“I had no choice,” he growled, voice low and shaking. “You don’t understand what it’s like, what my father,”

You cut him off with a bitter laugh that sounded half-sob.

“Don’t you dare make this about him. Don’t you dare act like you didn’t know exactly what you were doing to me.”

He pressed closer, so close you could feel the heat of his chest against yours, his eyes boring into you like he could carve the truth out of you by force.

“I was trying to keep us safe,” he hissed, voice breaking, something ragged and awful in it. “I was doing it for you.”

Your breath hitched at that, but you shook your head violently, hair whipping across your face.

“I never asked you to sacrifice us for your family’s goddamn pride. You were going behind my back, Draco. A little bit of honesty would've fixed everything!”

Silence fell between you, thick and choking.

Draco’s jaw trembled. For the first time, the fury in his eyes wavered, replaced by something hollow and wounded.

He swallowed hard, voice dropping to a raw whisper.

“I didn’t know what else to do.”

You shut your eyes, tears spilling freely now. Your voice was quiet, broken.

“Then you should’ve just loved me.”

He exhaled like he’d been stabbed.

“I did,” he hissed out, eyebrows furrowed. “I do. Every day I do. More than I love myself. More than I love the stupid fucking family matters.” His voice was like venom, angry, burning velvet.

Your breath hitched at his words, at the way they poured out of him like a confession he’d been dying to make but never dared.

His hands finally lifted, hovering uncertainly near your arms before curling into fists, like he couldn’t bear the thought of touching you if you’d only pull away.

“Then why didn’t you say it?” you whispered, voice cracking under the weight of all the months you’d held yourself together. “Why didn’t you tell me before you ruined us? Tell me what you had to do.”

His eyes were wild, shimmering with unshed tears he refused to let fall.

“Because I’m a fucking coward,” he spat, voice rough. “Because I didn’t want you to know how weak I was. How much I needed you and how I'm just a bloody puppet.”

You shook your head, wiping at your cheeks with the back of your hand, breath hiccupping with grief and fury.

“You didn’t have to be strong, Draco. I would’ve taken you exactly as you were.”

He shook his head.

“Doesn't matter. You have Wood now, yeah?” He laughed bitterly. “Brave and honest, just like a Gryffindor. Sickening.” He commented, like it was the most vile thing in the world. “I’ll beat that filthy blood-traitor within an inch of his fucking life.”

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides, nails biting into your palms.

"Don't you dare threaten him," you hissed. "Oliver's honest with me. He's different."

Draco flinched like you'd struck him, his silver eyes flashing with something wounded and feral.

"Is that what you want?" he snarled. "Some golden-hearted hero who'll never disappoint you? Who'll never have to make the hard choices?" He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "Tell me, does he know you? The way I do? Does he know how you bite your lip when you're trying not to cry? How you hum under your breath when you're brewing? How you whimper when--"

"Stop it." You shoved him back, your breath coming in sharp gasps. "You don't get to do this. You don't get to remember me like that and then -- then throw me away when it's convenient!"

Draco's face twisted. For a second, he looked like he might crumble. Then his mask slammed back into place, colder than ever. A hand came up, finger tips ghosting the sides of your throat.

“Watch your mouth. You are by far the best thing that has ever happened to me, love. I'm sick every day thinking that you don't believe it,” he whispered, his fingers squeezing a bit harder. “Please.”

Your breath caught in your throat. Not from fear, never fear, but from the weight of his words, the pressure of his fingers, the look in his eyes like he was already drowning in everything he couldn't say out loud.

“Let go,” you breathed, voice shaking, not from weakness, but from the storm surging inside you.

But he didn’t. Not right away.

Draco’s grip wasn’t cruel. It wasn’t meant to hurt. But it was desperate, like if he let go of you now, you’d disappear for good. His eyes burned into yours, silver lightning in a dark sky.

“I remember everything,” he said, softer now, his voice breaking at the edges. “Every bloody second with you. I don’t sleep. I don’t eat. I close my eyes and it’s you.”

His hand finally dropped, but his body didn’t move.

“I know I ruined it. I know. But I never stopped loving you. I never stopped. And you standing here... acting like he could ever replace what we had--”

“He didn’t replace it,” you interrupted, voice trembling, but sure. “He respected it. He respected me. Something you forgot how to do.”

Draco flinched like the words knocked the air from his lungs. His mouth opened, but no sound came out.

“You don’t get to demand closeness,” you said, the anger behind your tears rising like a tidal wave. “You lost that."

His chest was rising and falling fast now, panic threading through the rage.

“Y/N…” he whispered. “Don’t walk away. Please. Not again.”

You looked at him -- really looked at him. Pale, furious, unraveling at the seams.

You saw something you'd never seen. Vulnerability. Bare honesty. Desperation. All of the ugly emotions that he kept from you, just like his father had taught. And you broke. For once, you couldn't be strong. You couldn't be honorable. You broke. All of the feelings rushed in. The heartbreak, the love, the yearning for your home back. All of the hurt from what you lacked. And what you lacked was Draco, even if you didn't trust him.

Walking back in three large steps, you grabbed his face and brought it down to your own tear soaked one, your lips colliding in a harsh kiss.

Draco froze for half a second, shocked by the force of you -- by the taste of salt on your lips and the shaking of your breath. Then he broke with you.

His hands flew up, burying themselves in your hair, clutching like he could anchor himself there forever. He kissed you back with something that wasn’t gentle at all, wasn’t sweet. It was frantic. Bruising. A clash of teeth and tongues and desperate sobs you both tried to swallow.

Your fingers dug into his jaw, dragging him closer, needing him to feel everything you’d buried.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he choked between kisses, voice shredded. “I’m so fucking sorry. I’m so--”

“Shut up,” you whispered hoarsely, pressing your mouth back to his before you could start sobbing in earnest.

You didn’t want words anymore. Words had betrayed you both.

He staggered forward, forcing you back against the wooden beams of the stands, but this time you didn’t push him away. Your arms locked around his neck, grounding yourself in the smell of him, the feel of him. The stupid warmth you hated yourself for missing so badly.

“Don’t leave me,” he gasped against your lips, voice cracking in a way you’d never heard before.

You shuddered, tears spilling freely onto his skin.

“I hate you,” you whispered brokenly. “I hate you so much.”

But you kissed him harder.

And he let out something like a sob, clutching you tighter, forehead pressing desperately to yours between rushed, clumsy kisses.

“I know,” he breathed. “I know. But I love you. Merlin, I love you.”

He kissed you again, gentler now but no less desperate, hands trembling as they cupped your face. Like he was terrified you’d vanish if he let go.

Then, from the pitch, he heard Wood's voice. Talking casually with a friend in his too loud tone. He wasn't approaching the two of you -- he was respecting your wishes. However, it was enough to piss Draco off. Enough to remind Draco of who was trying to replace him.

His eyes narrowed into a glare again.

With one hand, he tilted your face, looking into it. He grabbed your hand with the other.

“Come with me.” He said, tugging you off the field.

You didn't argue. You knew this look. The jealousy, the inability to contain himself. You knew what would happen if you kept him too close to who was afflicting him. So, you followed. His steps were fast, legs long and body tall, dragging you behind him with a tight grip.

When you reached the dorm, you immediately hit the wall.

“Bloody waste of space should never have laid a finger on this.” He hissed, his mouth planting sloppy, wet kisses onto your neck. You exhaled, gripping his robes tightly.

“Draco--”

“Enough talk. Gonna show you how much I missed you, then I'm gonna show you everything that Gryffindor half-breed can't do for you.”

“Draco, I--” you tried again, voice cracking with emotion, but he growled low in his throat, cutting you off.

“I said enough.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you. His silver eyes were dark, swirling with that familiar storm of jealousy, anger, and raw need. But beneath it all, you saw the thing that undid you every time: fear.

Fear of losing you.

His hand squeezed yours, painfully tight but grounding, refusing to let you go.

“Look at me,” he demanded, voice low and shaking. “Look at me.”

You did. Chest heaving. Eyes wet.

He dragged his thumb across your cheekbone, smearing away the remnants of tears, before cupping your jaw and forcing your head back against the wall.

“He doesn’t know you,” he spat, his mouth brushing yours with every word. “Not like this. Not like I do.”

You shuddered, fingers curling into his robes, pulling him closer even as you hated yourself for it.

“He can’t make you sound like this,” Draco continued, voice dropping to a husky rasp, his lips trailing down your throat. “Can’t make you feel like this.”

Your breath hitched, a broken moan escaping despite your best efforts.

“Draco, please—”

“Please what, love?” he taunted, kissing you so harshly you thought your lips would bruise. His free hand skimmed your waist, gripping possessively. “Tell me. Beg me.”

Your eyes fluttered shut, teeth sinking into your lip to keep from whimpering, but he wouldn’t allow it. His fingers dug into your hip, dragging you against him so you could feel exactly what he wanted.

“Say it.”

You exhaled shakily, voice cracking under the weight of everything between you.

“I missed you,” you whispered. “Fuck, I missed you.”

That broke him.

He crashed his mouth onto yours with something between a sob and a growl, devouring you, kissing you like he wanted to consume every last memory of Oliver fucking Wood from your mouth.

His grip on you tightened, fingers digging into your hair, your waist, desperate to claim every part of you.

“Mine,” he breathed against your lips. “Always. Say it.”

You couldn’t lie. Not to him. Not to yourself.

“Yours,” you gasped. “Always yours.”

And the last piece of him that had been holding back shattered completely.

“Good. There's my girl. Haven’t really lost you, have I, love?” He chuckled cockily, reaching down to your shirt, tucked into your skirt carefully. He tore it off without a second thought, looking down at your skin.

The cool air made you whimper, squirming.

To placate you, he rubbed a hand along your side, still admiring quietly.

“Stunning. Nothing I’m sharing with Wood, that fucking reject.” He snarled.

Then, he quickly redirected you, pushing you back onto his bed demandingly. You gasped in surprise as he slid a finger under the waistband of your skirt, pulling it off in one swift motion. You were left in just your bra and underwear, the cold air biting at you, making you ache. Draco stared down at you with hot grey eyes.

“Dray.. Please.”

“Please what?”

“Want you.”

Draco smirked, wickedly and snidely, leaning down a bit.

“Me? You’re sure the Gryffindor superstar couldn’t do it better? The lad was--”

You groaned, rubbing your thighs together. They were beginning to get sticky, catching the moisture from the heat between your legs.

“No! Please.”

Without another word, he leant down the rest of the way, running a finger down the front of your soaked panties. Humming at your reaction, the arch of your back and soft moan, he looked at his finger. The dampness glistened.

With another brush, conveniently right in the most sensitive area, he pressed a gentle kiss to your clothed peak. You hissed, threading your fingers through his messy blonde hair. He grinned.

“Patience, patience. I’ll get to it.”

Finally, he pulled your sticky underwear down, and his smile widened.

“Gorgeous. Prettiest pussy in the world, love.”

He kissed it, eliciting a moan from you, the heat of his mouth and his bare skin finally touching where you wanted it. Thickening the spit over his tongue, he gave you one broad lick, your thighs fighting to close around his head and arms.

He tsked against your wet heat, letting his hands fall to pin your legs down. He licked deeper, splitting you completely, hitting every spot that mattered. You moaned, your back leaving the bed, arms coming up to grasp whatever you could reach. His ministrations were lewd, wet and sloppy, like he was taking his time to taste you.

Draco groaned against you, the vibrations making your toes curl.

"Fuck," he muttered, pulling back just enough to speak, his lips glistening with you. "Taste even better than I remember."

You whimpered, hips lifting off the bed, chasing his mouth.

He smirked, dragging his tongue up your slit slowly, teasingly, watching your face twist with frustration.

"Draco--"

"Say it again," he demanded, nipping at your inner thigh. "Say you're mine."

You gasped as his fingers replaced his tongue, two slipping inside you with ease, curling just so.

"Yours," you choked out, back arching. "Only yours--fuck--"

His free hand gripped your hip, holding you down as his fingers worked you ruthlessly, his mouth sealing over your clit again, sucking hard.

You came with a broken cry, thighs shaking around his head, fingers tearing at the sheets.

Draco didn’t let up, licking you through it, drinking down every last shudder, every gasp. Only when you were squirming from oversensitivity did he finally pull back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes dark with satisfaction.

"Good girl," he murmured, crawling up your body, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your stomach, your ribs, the swell of your breasts. "Now let's make sure you never forget who you belong to."

He stood, practiced hands shrugging his cloak off and quickly doing away with his belt buckle.

"Look at me."

Draco's voice was rough, commanding, as he loomed over you, his belt clattering to the floor, his trousers pushed low on his hips. His cock strained against the fabric of his briefs, already leaking for you.

You were dazed, still trembling from your first orgasm, but your eyes locked onto his.

He palmed himself through the fabric, watching the way your breath hitched.

"You're never to let that pathetic blood-traitor touch you again," he said coldly, finally freeing himself, stroking his length slowly. "Do you understand?"

"Yes," you gasped, thighs pressing together. "Draco--"

He didn't make you wait.

In one smooth motion, he dragged your hips to the edge of the bed and filled you, burying himself to the hilt with a satisfied groan.

You cried out, nails raking down his back, legs locking around his waist.

"Fuck-- so tight," he gritted out, hips snapping forward, setting a brutal pace. "You think Wood could fuck you like this? Could ruin you like this?"

You shook your head desperately, pleasure coiling tight again.

"No -- no -- only you--"

Draco’s lips curled into a vicious smirk, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise.

"Open your mouth," he demanded, thrusts turning punishing, each snap of his hips driving the breath from your lungs.

You responded, your brain foggy from the ruthless pace, the smell of him, the overstimulation. As soon as your lips opened wide enough, Draco spat into your mouth, grabbing your jaw to make you swallow it.

His name broke on your lips as he hit that spot inside you, the one only he knew, the one that made you see stars.

Draco groaned, his forehead dropping to yours, his breath ragged. "That’s it. This is all you needed, hm? A reminder?"

His hand slid between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight circles just the way you liked.

"Give it to me," he ordered, voice rough with need. "Let me feel it."

You shattered.

Your back arched off the bed, a broken whine tearing from your throat as pleasure ripped through you, wave after wave, Draco’s name a prayer on your lips.

He fucked you through it, his own release barreling toward him, his rhythm faltering.

"Fuck--fuck--" His hips stuttered, his grip on you ironclad as he spilled inside you with a groan, his entire body shuddering.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of your ragged breaths, the heat of his skin against yours.

Then Draco pulled back just enough to look at you, his silver eyes dark, possessive.

He dragged his thumb over your swollen lips, his voice dangerously soft.

"Next time I see Wood's hands anywhere near you?"

A pause.

A promise.

"I’ll kill him. I know the words." He warned, a finger tracing your jaw. You nodded, leaning into his touch. Draco hummed, pulling you up into his lap. “Resorting to filthy Gryffindors like you don’t know that your place is right beside me.”

You rolled your eyes, pulling yourself tighter to his body. The silence fell upon you easily - and since you’d confronted your issues, for once in the past few months, it was comfortable. His scent wrapped around you like a blanket.

He broke the silence quietly, his voice calm, kind and measured.

“I hope you know how truly sorry I am. And how long I plan to make it up to you for, love.”

You softened, your eyes glistening.

“How long?” You responded.

“Forever. Even that isn’t enough.”

A smile curled onto your lip. You leaned forward to press a soft kiss to his jaw.

“Forever then. It’s settled.” You told him softly, pulling the sheets up around you to settle against his chest. Your eyes were getting heavier by the second - and it had never felt so easy to fall asleep.

After all, you were home. Finally.

“I love you.” Draco quietly admitted. It wasn’t often that he actually said it. He was a man of actions, not words, so he never felt the need to tell you many times. But you treasured the times it did leave his lips.

“I love you too.”

He made it up to you forever. And for Draco, even that wasn’t enough, just as he’d said.

[rhettrosunsets]

Too Much? - Robert Reynolds X Fem!Reader

Pairing: Robert Reynolds X Fem!Thunderbolt Reader

Category: Hurt/Comfort

Summary: You knew you could be a bit much, a bit too excited, a bit too talkative, a bit too loud even at times? But you loved yourself, and that included those things. But after a rough day, your brain spirals and tries to convince you otherwise. But when things get too much for you to handle, Bob is right there to pick up the pieces and assure you that you're just enough.

Masterlist

Warnings: Reader overthinks a lot in this. Reader has some self deprecating thoughts wondering if she's off putting, too much, etc. Bob calls reader petnames like Baby and Sweetheart. Reader is described to be very talkative most times and very bright. Reader sort of shows ADHD symptoms but it is never mentioned (based off my own experiences.) Bob and reader cuddle on the couch. Reader doesn't eat lunch cause she's feeling off. No description of reader. No use of Y/N.

Notes: This is based off of things I have felt at some points with ADHD. Reader is not described as having ADHD, however some of her traits do link up to some of the things you see with ADHD. Like I said her traits are based off mine, and everyones experiences may be different! ❤️

You weren’t sure when you had started second guessing yourself again.

It wasn't something you had made a habit of since becoming a member of the thunderbolts. You'd began to truly love yourself for you since being on this team, and you had done so much healing.

Maybe it was just the kind of day it had been?

You’d had a rough day of training, your body ached and was sore. You hadn't expected to feel so exhausted, but exhaustion didn't typically cause this.

Maybe it was when you’d tried to joke around with Yelena. Your normal partner in crime when it came to your long banter and tangents, she was too exhausted to even think about trying to banter with you in the hall after you guys had finished up.

It had left you alone with your thoughts and a dejected feeling you hadn't felt since you were a kid and tried to go up to others and they'd ignore you. Just finding you off-putting or too much for them.

You knew Yelena meant no harm, she was simply exhausted just like you were, but while you knew that your body seemingly didn't and it unleashed a wave of unwelcomed thoughts into your brain all at once.

Now a few hours later you’d barely touched your lunch, and that should’ve been the first sign that something was wrong. Your mind was just swirling with thoughts, and you couldn’t get them to leave you alone.

It was like a complete overload of every negative thought all hitting you at once, overthinking every choice you've made recently.

Did you speak too loudly? Did the joke not land the way you wanted that one time and you never noticed? Did everyone hate you and you just were blissfully unaware?

The thoughts just wouldn't stop and they were slamming at the fore front of your poor brain.

You always wondered if you were just a bit too much, a bit too offputting. You’d always been a bit loud in your own way, always trying to light up the room, as awkward silences just made you cringe.

You know people would get frustrated when you’d go on long stories with a thousand mini stories in between, but it was just how you were, you couldn't help the way you told stories.

But now? Now you were wondering if that was too much this whole time.

The tower halls were quiet as you padded through them. You felt like a ghost in your own body at this point. You felt swallowed alive in your favorite hoodie, and like your pants were too itchy even though they were your favorite sweats that you wore on bad days.

You didn’t even really know where your body was taking you too, until you had walked into the living room and saw Bob.

Your boyfriend who knew you like the back of his hand.

He was sitting on the couch in soft sweats and his blue hoodie. He was reading a book that you had recommended to him. You had gone on a long tangent about the love arc and how much it had annoyed you but how much you loved it anyways. His hair was slightly falling into his face as he looked down at the book on his lap.

He looked so peaceful, so content, and you didn't want to ruin that peace. But you also really wanted your boyfriend right now.

He looked up as soon as he heard your footsteps. His eyes are soft and lit up like always when he sees you. “Hey, baby.” he says gently, a soft smile on his face.

“Hi.” you whispered, your voice light and barely there while your gaze was focused on your fuzzy sock clad feet, rather than your boyfriend in front of you.

He frowned a bit in concern. You were never this quiet, you were always, well? You. 

You were always so bright and talkative. You laughed at your own jokes, even when they were terrible. You'd get distracted mid sentence by your own thoughts and ramble into something else before finishing the story.

You bounced when you walked when you were excited. You told long stories about the smallest things even if the conversation could’ve been cut in half.

And you had somehow even made Bucky chuckle with your ridiculous theory about who on the team would survive the longest in a haunted house.

You had said Bob because “if you think about it, he technically was kinda like a haunted house that one time” before promptly gasping and covering your mouth when you realize what you had implied.

He’d laughed at that, even if you apologized a thousand times afterwards because you said your brain had seemingly disconnected from your mouth.

But right now, you just looked defeated. You were swallowed in a big hoodie and sweats, your face was set in a sad frown, and your eyes just seemed dull. And Bob didn’t like it one bit.

Bob sat up straight and reached his hand out to you, before motioning and whispering a soft “C’mere, baby.”

You didn’t even hesitate. even when your brain was completely spiraling your body always trusted him. You curled up beside him slowly, like you were afraid to move too fast, your brain still spiraling with thoughts of being too much.

He gently tugged you closer until your head was resting on his lap and your arms were tucked close to your chest as he draped a soft blanket over you. 

His hand went to your temple immediately, warm and soothing as brushed gentle soothing motions across your temple and cheek bone. “Bad day?” he asked quietly.

You nodded, but didn’t say anything. He didn't ask for details and he didn’t push you. That was part of why you’d fallen for him so fast, he was calm and patient and always made you feel confident in who you were as a person.

But the silence stretched for too long and even with your head in his laps and Bob’s soothing motions, your thoughts still spiraled.

You felt so off. Like the spark that made you, you had just sputtered out completely. You began doubting everything you knew, and while you knew so much of it was self sabotage and your brain playing mean tricks, you just couldn't shake it.

Bob must’ve noticed the way your shoulders curled tighter, and the way your eyes started to glisten as a tear slowly slipped down your cheek.

 His hand stilled it’s soothing motions and he quickly whispered, “Hey.” His voice was soft as he continued “What’s going on in that head of yours, sweetheart?”

You hesitated, then whispered, “I just-I don’t feel like myself today. And I know I talk too much and I know I ramble and say dumb stuff and it's like my mouth doesn't connect to my brain sometimes and it’s probably annoying and I’m sorry I’m so-”

“Hey.” He said it a little firmer that time as his thumb resumed its gentle motions. “Don’t do that, Baby. Don’t ever apologize for being you.”

You blinked up at him, tears still slipping down your cheeks slowly.

“I love that you talk so much, baby. I love that you’re always telling me about your day or your insane theories, or the random stuff you think about when you can’t sleep. I even love you when you ask me if I'd still love you if you were a worm."

You tried to look away, embarrassed at how you were feeling, but his hand gently guided your gaze back to him making sure he got his point across to you. “You know what your voice is to me?” he asked.

You shook your head no.

“It’s grounding. It helps keep me here on my bad days. You keep me here, baby. You talk, and I feel safe because I know you’ll always love me, even on my worst days.”

The lump in your throat got heavier, as you tried not to outright start sobbing in your boyfriend's lap.

He continued softly, his voice staying a quiet melodic hum as he talked “when you shut down like this, I know you’re hurting baby. And I hate that. It's not because you’re being quiet, but because I know it means something inside you is trying to convince you that you’re too much. But you don’t know that you could never be too much, sweetheart. I always want more of you, because I love you.”

And that's when the floodgates broke.

Small broken sobs escaped your mouth as you covered your eyes with your hands, just feeling so confused by the different emotions and thoughts in your head. Your breathing picking up as your body just reaches it's breaking point of becoming overwhelmed.

Bob quickly told you to breathe with him, and copy his breaths. And you tried, and after a few more shaky tries, your chest loosened a little. You were still shaky and tears were still slipping past your eyes, but you felt lighter.

“There you are.” Bob whispered softly as he saw your breathing begin to slow, and the way you sagged a bit more into his lap.

You sniffled burying your face into the soft fabric of Bob’s sweats. “I don’t wanna be like this, I hate this. I just feel broken, and I don’t understand why.” 

“There’s nothing wrong with needing to cry. Everyone has off days and I’m not going anywhere. I love you loud and I love you quiet. You don’t have to be a certain version of yourself for me to stay, sweetheart.”

You closed your eyes as you nodded, his voice was so calming and so steady that it felt like almost a lullaby.

Bob looked at you relaxing as he spoke and then an idea popped into his head. He knew you loved reading when you were tired, and he knew how much his voice was helping you right now. So what better than to read to you.

“I have an idea baby.” he said after a moment. He reached for the book he’d left open, gently shifting your head just enough to rest more comfortably in his lap, readjusting the blanket over you and then he opened the book, his thumb brushing a few pages before he found his bookmark.

He started reading his voice low and slow. His other hand not holding the book stayed rubbing your temple and cheek, occasionally rubbing over your shoulder and rubbing some of the tension out.

It was so soothing, and the longer he read the more the ache in your chest faded away to nothing, your eye's blinking slower and slower by the minute.

Bob paused, before he went to turn to the next page, gently whispering into your ear. “I think the next time you start worrying you talk too much, I’m gonna remind you how much I love the sound of your voice.”

You sniffled, a soft smile beginning at your lips. “Even when I go on long tangents about which of us would win in a pillow fight?” you ask as you look up at him, your voice still teary.

“Especially then, baby. And for the record, my money’s still on Ava.” he said, grinning down at you. “She phases through things! That's like cheating.” You exclaim as your voice cracks a bit. “That’s strategy.” he countered back, squeezing your shoulder gently, with a soft shake.

You giggled, it came out a little watery but it was still a giggle.

Bob's face lit up like he’d just won the lottery with that single laugh. “There’s my girl.” he whispered, brushing a kiss to your temple.

You shifted slightly, just enough to curl deeper into his lap as your arms wrapped around his knee. “I love you.” you whispered out, but with a soft smile gracing your face this time.

Bob leaned down and kissed the tip of your nose, his fingers reaching up to wipe the remaining tears before whispering. “I love you, too. Good days, bad days. I love all of you, baby, and I'll always remind you of it.”

You smile and closed your eyes, letting the warmth of him and the softness of his voice reading to you soothe you into a soft sleepy state.

Maybe tomorrow would be better, maybe not.

But tonight with him holding you and reading your favorite book to you? You felt just a little more like yourself again, and that's all that mattered.

[lovemepartly]

yandere!salesman ✩ headcanons

warnings: mild smut? sugar daddy vibes. stalking, obsessive, possessive, toxic.

a/n: i had so much fun writing these… also i just finished watching kpdh and since i can’t be normal about literally anything don’t be surprised if i post smnth abt the saja boys 😅

 ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ 

yandere!salesman, who approached you at the subway. he'd been following you for some time and had become infatuated with you from afar. he was going to play ddakji with you but the thought of slapping your pretty face was something he knew he couldn't do. so instead, he approached you with a deal. an arrangement. he could take care of you.

yandere!salesman, who gives you everything you could possibly need. he makes you move into his penthouse almost immediately. "why do you want to waste money on rent?" he'll ask. he showers you with the most expensive gifts: designer clothes, pure gold jewellery, real diamonds glittering over your wrist and neck, louboutin heels, and the valentino born in roma donna perfume— his favorite. he buys you all the necessities, a new phone, etc. he claims it's because he wants you to have the best everything, smiling down at you with a look that makes your heart flutter, but it's really just so that he can have full control of everything you own.

yandere!salesman, who doesn't expect much in return. just your devout loyalty to him— because he wants you to be all his. he’s not interested in forcing affection. he prefers loyalty, quiet and unquestioning. the kind that makes you stay even if you’re mad. the kind that makes you trust him no matter what.

yandere!salesman, who pays off yours and your family's debt without a word, an envelope with a one billion won check appearing at their front step. the money is more than enough to cover their debt and ensure that they have enough to take care of themselves in the future. but he doesn't want a thank you, he wants you to never see them again.

yandere!salesman, who lets you leave if you want to. but you find your phone locked. your bank account locked. the key to your family's apartment changed. and when you finally come home after a day, he's sitting in the living room, a glass of whiskey in his hand. the fact that you couldn't even last a day without him makes him smile. you might apologize or you might curse him out in anger for cutting you off. either way, he just sits silently on the couch, swirling the dark gold liquid in his glass, an unwavering smirk on his face. when you're done yelling at him, he speaks simply, his tone even.

"i hate it when you make me the bad guy, sweetheart."

yandere!salesman, who makes you try everything outfit on in front of him. of course it's important to him that you like it, but he also has to like it. "i don't like the color of that dress, nae sarang. try on the red one." he's picky with the clothes, picky with what he wants a woman to wear. sometimes, he wants you pretty and innocent, all dolled up for him. other times, it might be a silky, sensual black dress that he really likes.

yandere!salesman, who will ignore you as a punishment. maybe you tried to sneak out at night to go out with your friends. he noticed— of course he did. but he let you leave, because his lack of attention is punishment enough. and when you sneak back home, he's already left for work and the locks to his penthouse has been changed. you sit outside the door, waiting for him to come home from work, feeling incredibly uncomfortable at every strange look that passerby's give you. when he finally comes home from work, a smile appears on his face when he sees you waiting for him. he'll lean down to ruffle your hair, murmuring, "pretty baby, were you waiting for me?" it's a couple of weeks until you get the new keys and gifts again.

yandere!salesman, who told you what he did for a living, only because you wouldn't stop pushing. he tried to hold it off as long as he could, claiming he was a regular businessman, but when you asked for the third time, he sat down on the couch, pulling you onto his lap, your legs draping over him. when he told you, he kept a straight face, tracing patterns on your legs, like he was telling you about the most mundane thing. but every wince on your face and crinkled nose from hearing about the violence and sadistic nature of the game, he had to hold back a smirk. because he loves the idea of ruining you. he’ll reassure you that as long as you stay with him and let him provide for you, you won’t ever have to worry about joining the games. you’re still not sure what he meant by that.

yandere!salesman, who needs to know where you are at all times. if he has to leave the city for a couple of days, he'll get you a new necklace, mumbling a small apology about having to be gone, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. you think the necklace is an apology for the business trip, but really, it has a tracker in it.

yandere!salesman, who asks you questions he already knows the answer to just to see if you're lying to him. he'll ask you if you went out today, already seeing on the tracker in your necklace that you left to the supermarket at 11:00am. when you're honest with him, he'll just murmur a small "good," a small smirk creeping up on his face.

yandere!salesman, who takes you to a michelin star restaurant but spends the whole time whispering what he wants to do to you when you get home in your ear. on the car ride home, he'll drive with a possessive hand on your thigh that slowly starts inching higher until it reaches your clothed core. his thumb rubs you through the thin fabric of the panties you're wearing, and every small whimper makes him smile slightly. "already so needy for me, baby, and i haven't even touched you properly yet."

yandere!salesman, who remembers every single thing you’ve ever said you liked and fills your apartment with it. whether it’s your favorite flowers, your favorite makeup brand, or just a book covered that you looked at for a second longer than you normally do— he wants you to own it. he never wants you wanting more because he knows he can give you everything you need.

yandere!salesman, who kisses your hand like a gentleman and then traces your wrist with his thumb like he’s measuring where a bracelet— or handcuffs— might go. he has a red silk-lined drawer in his room, filled with every toy you can imagine. handcuffs, vibrators, blindfolds, and more.

yandere!salesman, who sends you flowers from anonymous addresses and pretends he’s jealous when you get flustered. but the main reason why he does it? to see if you suspect any people. because if there’s any other person who you think would send you flowers, he has to do something about it.

[kyri45]

✨Spicynoodles Bio Parents AU Q&A! 07/07✨

Welcome to the Q&A! A space where I can answer related or similar question about the Shadowpeach/Spicynoodles Bio Parents AU! If you submitted your ask anonimously, then you’ll have to check the whole post if it’s answered here, if it’s not, worry not! Your asks might have been used for a future comic or just in the queue~

@shadowlilly101 ha chiesto: I wonder what heaven's reaction to Kai being born was like Oh no they're multiplying because redson was the one who made the samadi fire when he was born and mk being the harbinger of chaos and son of Sun Wukong and Macaque that inherited both his parents' powers how strong would kai be truly? @lulushadowpeach ha chiesto: Question wouldn't the celestial realm see Kai as a threat to them?

haha heaven was worried af. Though this time is actually quite justified.

@virtualjellyfishcolor ha chiesto: ..wait how did freenoodls kiss go? (also sorry if I’m wasteing your time)

you mean this one?

@blue1lotus ha chiesto: Just out of interest, does the skull that Yuèbèi has give people a ginormous headache and kills them after three days?

only if they pisses her off/hj

@internet-grab-my-tumblr ha chiesto: So Wukong and macaque still have occasional episodes where their trauma gets to them…how did Yuebei react the first time she saw Wukong have a panic attack or Macaque go intangible and mute? I’m sure they try not to let her see but she’ll witness it eventually…

Yes they do, and they will teach their daughter also that this is somewhat normal, and she doesn't have to worry too much about it, and what little she can do to help her distress parent alongside the other parental figure.

@shilo1998 ha chiesto: I remember you said Yuebei looked different during an eclipse like MK can you show us please?

she's ginger like wukong when the shadow part of herself is removed by the moonlight

@optimistic-mythani ha chiesto: Will Goldren Vision secretly aid Kai? Like, imagine if Kai thrust things that Goldren Kision is something a Fire wire Weilter has in addition to the tire element, like Cole’s superstrength. Kai, honey, it really isn't apart of your fire element. Does Kai even remember his real parents, or are they just a blur? How young were Kai and Nya when he got Isakai’d?

Haha yeah sorry Kai that power aint related to the golden ninja or yor fire powers.

They were older than when canonically in the show Maya and Ray got kidnapped

ABOUT MY THOUGHTS ON SHIPS:

@cybernetsworld ha chiesto: Hi Kiri, I wanted to ask you now that you're doing a ninjago and monkie kid crossover what your favorite ship in Ninjago is or if you ship with whom (my fav ship in Ninjago is Lava (cole x kai)) (btw. I love the idea that kai MK's and red son's child is) @ka1-11 ha chiesto: Can we get an opinion on Lava?As in Cole×Kai I mean @l4yl6 ha chiesto: Okay I kind of really am curious since you just entered into the ninjago fandom and you're doing a comic of Kai being the child of Spicynoodles🤭 I really need to ask, who do you ship Kai with ??? 😍 (Personally I ship him with Cole, yeah I'm a lavashipper😋😌) @chocolatekoaladaze ha chiesto: What do you think Lava (Cole and Kai)? @mischiefmelody ha chiesto: Hello! I know you're not planning on having any centric ships in the Ninjago Dr x LMK comic (aside from a little Jaya), but can I ask your thoughts about Geode (Geo x Cole)?

I really liked their interactions in Dragon Rising!!(about Geode) The found family with like adoptive kids is so real. For other ships, I'm really open to most ships in the Ninjago, however, I don't feel like there's hasn't been a ship I've been really connecting to. I do see the appeal and the interactions in each of them, but I mostly see the ninjas too much as family to actively ship just 2 of them. (it's either that or they are all in a queerplatonic relationship, lol).

Outside of my personal preference, I wont dive too much into shipping in the Spicynoodles Bio Parents AU, moslty to not start ship wars (there are a TONS of shipping alternatives in this fandom) and also cause I've been trying to find space in the plot but there's already way too much stuff (also canon to the current Dragon Rising S3) in the way to also add a side-romance story aside spicynoodles and a little of past Jaya. (compared to the Shadowpeach Bio parents au, where Spicynoodles had much more time and space in-story to develop off screen.)

@autism-autobot ha chiesto: Okay but the fact that Kai keeps trying to hook up with Skylor, who's father owns a noodle business (albeit it's a front) that she later inherited is really hilarious bc Kai is a fire user Two generations of Fire user × Noodle Business Nepobaby (kinda) The Perfect Ship

It is a genetic trait it seems indeed

@sakurablossoms-world ha chiesto: So when in the Ninjago timeline does your comic take place? Also funny idea (I know you mentioned earlier that you’re not really big on Ninjago ships including canon ones, but this idea has been swirling in my brain since you mentioned Kai being MK and Redson’s kid), imagine the reason Kai was attracted to Skylor (the elemental master of amber) is because she reminds him of both his parents in various ways On the note of romance would I be wrong in assuming that Mei would be simultaneously chill and extremely judgmental regarding Jay

After season 3 of dragon rising. I did saw Part 2 leaked, but we are missing the final episodes so I don't want to start from Episode 18. and just proceed on an hypotetical point where Thunderfand was resolved". Yes Mei would be extremely protective when she learns her daughter is dating someone.

@soul2008 ha chiesto: First things first, love your art and au's I have a question, was your Spicynoodle Kid Kai born in a similar manner as Yuebi (aka stone egg). If not how? (If your comfortable answering)

he was born the normal, mortal way

@poisonblob ha chiesto: Hello! I just had a quick question. I was wondering if I could redraw a small scene of your ShadowPeach Bio parents comic? It's mainly for my own digital practice but I will credit you if I do end up posting it. If I'm not allowed to then that's fine. Love your art btw! I got the stylized character illustration thing and it's helped me immensely so I just wanted to thank you for getting me into art again. -Blob

Oh yeah sure, as long as you don't trace it. You can even post it as long as you tag me.

@laokezredo ha chiesto: okay I know this isn’t a question but OMG I just needed to tell you how amazing your art style is. There’s something about it that just seems so flowy and beautiful to me, and the latest art with Kai’s hair on fire is soooo good!! I can’t wait to see the rest of the story unfold and keep up the awesome work! :D

Thank you!

@theblackrosewriter ha chiesto: Hello! I was wondering what your designs for the Ninjago crew will look like? Also, I love your Monkie Kid AU comics! They're an absolute delight, and I've been reading them ever since they started. You're an amazing artist! Thank you for giving us this wonderful story to follow and love!

their "human looking" designs are these ones.

@unknownmonkeydemon ha chiesto: Hi, just wanted to say I love your au's, but I wanted to ask, in shadow peach bio parent au, Mac is mama and wukong is baba, what will mk and reason be in the new spinoff, will it be like reason is the dad and mk is the mom, or will it be pretty much reversed, love your art and comics!

MK is Baba and RedSon is "father"

@ghostedmercury ha chiesto: it seems Kai is destined to have a goatee in the future, what do you have to say about that?

it fits his character

ycelestin811 ha chiesto: I have a question: Will Kai find out he is adopted by the Smith family Ray and Maya in Ninjago? And does Kai have romantic feelings for Skylor after the crystallized.

Canonically not anymore, since she's has been missing since the Merge

@gremlinpen ha chiesto: someone needs to warn Kai of the dangers of being a main character in one of you comics. I assume many bricks are on the way? (Good luck with the comic! You have once again made my day!) :D

of course

@yelling-into-aboid ha chiesto: Speed ran both your Shadowpeach Bio AU and the sequel, second star. Loved it so much T^T!!!! Followed!! Can't wait to see what you do next!! (Looking at that Spicy noodles Kai au 0^0)

Aw thank you!

@authorofcelesti ha chiesto: What seasons of Ninjago do we have to watch to have the full context for the Spicynoodles bioparents comic?

at least what happens in Dragon Rising, up to the entire S3 P1 (if u can watch also P2 it would be lovely). Then it's up to you to at least read a summary of everything that has happened before in NInjago because basically everything, outside the year in which ray and Maya were kidnapped, is canon, and small parts of what happened in the past seasons will be mentioned.

@ablujay ha chiesto: For the spicynoodles bio parents au, are you strictly going off of ninjago dragons rising or the whole show? (Also I hope you are having a great day!!)

both. I'm not really a fan of the "Ninjago was so full of plot-holes you can decide what is canon and what is not". I don't care if everything was incredibly incosistent, I fell like it's my job as a writer to be able to work with what we canonically have. The only fandom that is the exeption to this rule for me is Voltron LD lol

@blognamebelieveit ha chiesto: Hi hi hi Kyriii!! <33 I have a widdle Question abt MK, if you don’t mind answerin’ :3 and sorry for bothering you again if I did… SOOO, Ik dat MK’s immortal… But like HOW Immortal??? I mean like… Is he Wukong type immortal? As in won’t die to any attack (as in being jumped in the most brutal way and is still alive) or like if his head’s exploded in some way or he’s stabbed in his heart of whatever and still be alive…. Or is he Macaque type immortal? Like he’s immortal by age, but can die? Because I came up with a scenario for MK where he did something so bad that he SHOULDVE died but didn’t and I just want some confirmation cuz yah.. (btw I’m okay <3) THANK YOU, AND HAVE FUN AND SUCCESS WORKING ON YOUR OTHER COMICS!!1!1!2!!!!!

he is not invincible. he is like super strong but there are things that can kill him. yes if you cut his head he will die

@fadingpoetrycoffee ha chiesto: ☆hi Kyri!☆ I have a question about the “new” spicy noodles fic/comic（╹◡╹) 🤍🌟Is mk little sister older in the fic? (Even if she’s not in it)🤍🌟 🌸⭐️Also! Is macaque and wukong grand parents?☆🌸⭐️

she is older yes. Shadowpeach are now grandparents of Kai, yes.

@talereader ha chiesto: Hi i am a huge fan of your art and your comics. I have a question about the Spicynoodles Bio Parents comic if you are game. Alot of people in the ninjago fandom have noticed that Kai and Nya kinda claimed Lloyd as theirs. I mean the team all obviously think of each other as family but the Smith siblings have extra big siblings vibes with him ya know. So my question is will that kind of dynamic be used here are do you see their relationship differently? P.s are Kai x Skylor a ship of interest?

Loyd and Kai have a brotherly relationship. I'm ok with KaixSkylor but canonically the relationship has ended

@fjtrickster-blog ha chiesto: In that flashback with Kai and MK where he's put paint all over his face I can't help but notice the trailing ribbon behind him in that panel and the next one. I'm curious if that indicates he was trying to give himself a tail too. If so that's adorable. Love your art have a great day!

technically that was his tail haha

@dark-12234 ha chiesto: Hello kyri! I was wondering if you'll ever make a comic of the days we're apricot grows from a baby to an adult🥺 Also you should really take a break from all the comic making, you're art has improved so much that I honestly wonder if you ever take like 5 minutes break Please take some rest😔 And I'm also wondering on what brush do you use, im not sure if I have seen what brush you use or I might have forgotten a post.... I'm also sorry if I'm bad at English heheh....I'm Filipino

No I wont do a story about all of her growth, but you might see her again

@authorofcelesti ha chiesto: I love the new spicynoodle bioparents AU! Can't wait to see where you go with it! Out of curiosity, do you have a set update schedule like with the shadowpeach AU? Or will it be more sporadic (like the ISAT/SKY AU until a few months ago)? Again, I absolutely love your writing and art!

I will try posting 2/3 times a week depending on how much my 2 jobs are killing me

@nica0509 ha chiesto: Hello. A question, in your AU where Kai is the son of Redson and Xiaotian, Nya whose daughter is she? and Ray and Maya then found them by chance when they came to ninjago and decided to adopt them?

she's Mei daughter. Also Ray and Maya were quite close by when they were Isekai-ed so they didn't wander around too much

@mkthemonken ha chiesto: this isn't a question it's just something I want to say. Thank you so much for the new comic that you're gonna make. I'm so excited for it all the work you're putting into this I just love it. Thank you so much. Every time I read your comics it makes my day and I'm just so happy. Right now I'm not really good at making comics but I really want to try. Do you have any tips to try to make comics because I really don't know how to but I'm going to try. I just love your comics so much. Again, thank you and we love you so much and this fandom needs you to keep it alive...... have a nice day. I know this is a lot, but I just don't know how to put it in words, so thank you

Aww you're welcome!

@kingofendlessdc ha chiesto: Can I just say I love your Kai art so much! And I love the idea that Kai is a byproduct of Red son and MK. Specifically since I’ve always thought LMK and Ninjago took place in the same multiverse. Also, after LMK Season 5 I had a sort of crack theory that Lord raz’s master and the person Xianglu said was winning are the same person since it seems like both of the cartoons are heading to a multiversal aspect. Furthermore, the place Lord Raz goes when his master contacts him is eerily similar to the primordial chaos xianglu goes to at the end of LMK season 5.

It truly does! doesn't it?

@paloriee ha chiesto: Hihi!! So idk anything about ninjago but I am very excited for the new comic!! I'd like to dive into the universe so what TV shows/movies/whatever do you recommend? Thanks :D

Ninjago is long. technically I will reference stuff happened in almost every season. If u wanna watch everything go for it. Main thing is that you know the basic of what happened in each and what happens in Dragon rising to each character and the universe

[avaredava]

Arranged marriage!Sukuna prt. 2

series

_

Arranged marriage!sukuna who woke you up with soft gentle kisses on your lips, complete opposite of how he acts in public or to the servants or whoever comes around. Soft touches on your hip of his large hand as the other tucks hair behind your ear, trying to make sure you wake up comfortably.

Arranged marriage!sukuna whose lips that used to yell and scream at people but now are whispering sweet nothings in your ears trying to wake comfortably.

Arranged marriage!sukuna who stared at your grumbling face with awe at how pretty you were and smiled when you gently slapped his shoulder then pulled up the blankets to cover you. So he grabbed you like a burrito and carried you all the way to the washroom as you squirmed inside the make shift blanket trap.

Arranged marriage!sukuna who admired you sitting on the edge of the tub as you did your mascara. You were about to fix your blemishes like freckles with foundation then you felt a soft touch on your wrist pulling the tube away from your hands. He liked you natural. But he knew you liked your mascara.

Arranged marriage!sukuna who chose the prettiest pink dress with white flowers imprinted all over it. He picked you up and flung you around his scarred arms. The gentle morning sun gently shining on his handsome face as a small smile fled across it.

Arranged marriage!sukuna who held your hand down the staircase fixing his tie with the other hand getting ready to meet your parents.

Arranged marriage!sukuna whose face scrunched upset when your parents came, that practically sold you off to him. He was glad you went to him instead of some other asshole but some small part of him wants you to go to a normal guy. Someone who you can relate to. Not someone who village kids talk about like an evil urban legend.

Arranged marriage!sukuna who didn't really speak for the rest of the night. It was an awkward dinner. Just essentials clashing with the plate and every so often a small clear of the throat. You understood why he wouldn't talk but it's what confused you after.

Arranged marriage!sukuna who didn't talk even after the dinner. He went to bed not even giving you a kiss. Your eyes teared up when you were laying in the dark. Did you do something wrong? Did you hurt him? You knew he was very... how do you put this. Not very open. He was open enough you knew him like the back of your hand. But he didn't want to seem weak though.

Arranged marriage!sukuna who felt bad near the end of the night so he threw his arms over you and held you close. When you push him off, it's like his own fears came true. He made you so angry you didn't even want him to touch you. Dear god he was right, he would never be enough for you. Husbands aren't supposed to make their wives mad even though people normalize it.

Arranged marriage!sukuna who woke up saying nothing to you, not out of spite or pettiness but wondering if he even deserved to be heard by you. Maybe it should be like that.

Arranged marriage!sukuna who thought like that until you grabbed him by his arm and bluntly stated, "Why are you being a jerk? We are supposed to be in this together. I love you even though many people hate the person they are arranged with. I care about you, you matter to me Ryomen."

Arranged marriage!sukuna when he heard you say that it was like a breath of fresh air. "I thought you didn't want me." He mumbled, more vulnerable then he's ever been, even with you. He kissed your neck up and down with a gentle hum as he practically felt you fall apart under him.

Arranged marriage!sukuna who vowed it was the shortest fight you would ever have and the only one.

Tag list: @idontwannatalkrn1

[sdmnpact]

C. DIXON MOODBOARD I.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Dating Chris Dixon ♡

[] Cute Little Things.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ pub crawls

Of course he takes you out on pub crawls and of course he makes cute little gestures when he's battered. Some of your favorites including but not limited to: arranging beers into a heart, placing rose petals into your pint, absolutely ruining the drink, but the gesture was thoughtful, and taking your penalties for you - maybe your favorite of all.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ depression cupcakes

Chris isn't one to shy away from baking, especially if it's to make you happy. Days you feel particularly sad, you'll find Chris in the kitchen baking you some sweet treats. The delicious scent wafting in the air bringing you out of your funk and into the kitchen to watch him decorate his pastries. The soft, fluffy texture of his cupcakes bringing a smile to both your faces.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ lego dates in the park

At least once a week, Chris buys a new Lego set and takes you to the park for a building date. You absolutely love spending this time with him. The fresh air and cloudy days calm the stress that is building with Chris. You love the man but he has a tendency to self-sabotage. Your cute building date turns into a waking nightmare of lost pieces and a stressed out Chris. It's okay though, you know just the spots to kiss to make him forget his worries.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ beer runs

You practically live at casa de dixon-clarke-hill and that also means you go shopping with them all the time. Most of the time it's for the essentials and when you're the one cooking dinner, because they never have the ingredients you need BUT the most precious times are the beer runs. You guys will be at the flat, drinking a couple of bevs and playing random games when all of a sudden the beer runs out. Rather than order some more like normal people, Chris and George persuade you and Arthur to go to the local shop and buy some together. The four of you stumble your way through the streets, getting odd looks from strangers. Once in the shop, the boys no longer have filters, and then it turns into you telling them to shut up while they make perverted jokes every four seconds. You wouldn't trade it for anything.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ dinner and hand holding

It bugs you sometimes but you will always love it. Dinners always includes hand holding. Chris never wants to let you go, even while eating. He acts as if you'll fly away if he's not holding onto you. During dinner, it gets difficult when you want to reach for something but Chris already has hold of your hand. Rather than telling him to let go, you suffer in silence, a cozy suffering. A suffering you'd miss if he wasn't with you.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ cozy nights

Saturday nights are for the girls aka you and Chris watching rom coms until 3 in the morning and eating snacks until your bellies ache. He loves you and will literally do whatever makes you happy, some nights you throw him a bone and put on a horror or action film. Sometimes you even put on a film you know will get him hot and bothered, those nights end up with your sweaty bodies under the sheets holding onto each other until you fall asleep to the sound of the other's slow, soft breathing.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ candid pics and photobooth strips

You love documenting your relationship. Taking random pictures of Chris doing absolutely anything is your favorite past time. He is your muse, especially when he's doing something particularly ridiculous. You will also never pass up the chance to take photobooth pictures with him. Millions of strips are hung up in both your bedrooms, every moment just as precious as the last. You love finding new poses to try and of course he's always just as excited as you.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ surgery aftercare

Call yourself nurse Betty because Chris sure did. After his surgery, you beckoned to him, hand and foot for all his needs. He insisted you didn't but you couldn't help it. He wouldn't ask for much but when he did you happily obliged. You know he would be the exact same way or even worse if you were in his place. Another thing about playing nurse was making Chris extremely happy, especially when he would get handsy. Of course you had to fulfill your duties and these would usually consist of not so hospital friendly but very fun activities.

~~~

Taglist ♡ @suspicious-stain-in-spain, @madsclarkey @xlovergirlx @daliah-xxo @livvymd

[theotherrookie]

Erica smiled at the offer. "Yes! I could use more shadow practice!"

Variety was important. Learning from multiple people would definitely help her come up with new tricks as well as have a fun time.

The elf's excitement was, as usual, opposed to Willow's more quiet reactions. The cyborg gave a small nod upon hearing her suggestion had been accepted.

"Very well." She was glad they had something of an agreement in place. There was a good chance Rook would also appreciate her attempts at socializing.

"Yeah. But there's plenty of musicals out there! I bet Fae knows of something else with cats that isn't so depressing." Erica replied. She clearly had no trouble talking to Simon through the drone, being more than used to chatting with Willow through speakers or other devices.

Rook spared Lucien a glance when he finally emerged from behind the menu.

"Well, I'm sure one of us wouldn't mind catching you in that position." she began, "But I'd love to learn."

Especially after seeing how popular those rolls apparently were. Cooking was one of the few normal activities Rook enjoyed and doing it for others made it even better.

Besides, it was a great way to keep busy and avoid thinking about what might have been. They could not have been able to sit there talking about buns. Russell could have been dead. Lucien could have thrown all the work he had done away to seek revenge. She could have lost her magic and become a shadow of herself.

It was best not to think about it. She reached to flick some of the feathers on her helmet.

"He's smart and very determined. You can't really tell Edmund he can't do something because he'll take it as a challenge and not just when it's about booze." Rook explained, "Maybe it's about time he makes some more flavors."

Something more tropical would have been nice to have. Those few ghosts who ventured out here might appreciate some more variety.

"I'm always up for a rewatch. We could make it a stable thing." Rook said, before turning to Antonio, "It'd be fun if you joined too. It's one more thing that won't make mum worry and who knows, maybe I'll also let you use my grill."

Well, there was a non zero chance of it happening at least. Being allowed to manage an open flame and cooking at the same time was the perfect activity for Rook.

"Well, we can give it a try." It was going to look silly. But Rook couldn't really care.

"Yeah! Let's make a place for everybody!" Erica cheered, before reaching into her pocket, "Hey! Can I have an extra cup?"

The reason for that became clear immediately as Smokey was placed on the table. The kitten stretched after a nice long nap like he hadn't had in a while, then started looking around the new place Erica had taken him to. It didn't take much to figure it out as the first of the ice cream started being served.

"Yeah, it's fun!" Erica replied cheerfully. She liked Bill and the idea of having an extra father figure while hers was missing sounded nice enough. "Well, that works. You're about the same age as Fae's dad too. I bet she'll find that funny."

If Erica's enthusiasm was evident, Willow was staring Bill up and down. Veronica had her own way of dealing with people and was easy to get used to, but she was otherwise unfamiliar with the concept of having a parental figure. She supposed that meant the possibility of doing activities together.

"Are you...any good at fencing?" she finally asked.

An attempt was being made while Erica really couldn't bring herself to like what she was being told.

"Well, that's sad." It was unlikely she'd be watching that musical any time soon.

Rook watched at the way both Lucien and Russell were reacting to her misadventures with a skeptic look on her face.

"Ah yes, it becomes a problem only when I have to suffer." she huffed, "I'm counting on that. And maybe someday I'll show you how to make olive bread."

"That sounds nice. Put some chocolate syrup on it if you can!" Erica suggested, "Yeah! You're going to enjoy it more now."

Despite everything, it couldn't be denied that they were doing their best not to think about what might have been. They could have lost Russell and most likely someone else as well. They had to celebrate that.

"Tropical is nice too!" Erica added.

"Indeed. Although I think I'll go with mint myself." Veronica said, before nodding, "Yes. It was invented last time Edmund incredibly got bored of brewing and decided to give it a try. He wanted to make it rum flavored, but I dissuaded him."

A change for the better, the pirate later admitted. The crew enjoyed it and it was somewhat popular at the shop as well.

Rook chuckled, "You bet it's a reference!"

"I'll have to come back too. It'd be nice to bring some of that stuff to my bosses." Erica said.

But as it looked like all orders had been placed, the ghosts headed off to prepare them swiftly. Veronica then took a seat. Rook did the same, taking the time to adjust and lean back before taking her helmet off.

"Well, guys, we did it. It's time to get started on fixing up the club and make it into the giant middle finger to the hunters it deserves to be!" She chuckled, "I usually don't like poking them but hell, we deserve to be petty. And then, you're all invited to my place for dinner."

[socratesgirlnextdoor]

once thing i love about anya and spike is technically, they understand each other within the group dynamic more than the others because they are sort of the outsiders, (e.g. when they bond in s4 depressed over their loss of being a demon) in normal situations they would be a ship or something to the point where anya and spike do sleep together --- but what i love about them is that them hooking up is sort of a friendship thing. neither of them saw it as anything but that, and the mutual respect they have for each other is a little refreshing. they're solid friends, even if they don't get many moments together. and i think the show could have shoved them into a relationship together and it wouldn't be that bad, but i think it wouldn't be anything more than it already was. even when anyas trying to fuck spike again in s7 it still reads as friends. there's no passion between them, not really, but there’s respect. that's so valuable

[jtargaryen18]

The Arrangement ~ Chapter 15

Series Masterlist

Words: 7.3k

Pairing: Thomas Shelby (Peaky Blinders) x Reader F

Warnings: Refernces to bloody violence, serious threats, intimidation, explicit sex, P in V, oral (m receiving)

The war with the Changrettas is on the horizon and whispers across Small Heath carry the rumor that Vicente Changretta has sent for his brutal son, Luca. As the Shelbys prepare for his arrival, Luca arrives and the first person he wants to meet is you.

When you woke the next morning, the sun was already high in the sky. Warm rays of light filtered in through the curtains to cast a gentle haze across the edge of the bed. All the normal morning sounds were in the background. The sounds of the staff quietly going about their day, the songs of the birds outside.

You were tired this morning, your spat with your husband dragged on until the hours just before dawn. Tommy had finally apologized for using your brother as bait to kill Angel Changretta. It had been more than you expected. 

What had surprised you most wasn’t his apology, it was everything he did to avoid saying it. He'd thrown up every argument as to why it had been necessary to do what they did. After you moved to Ada's room, it continued. He'd paced the hallway outside Ada’s room instead of knocking all through the night. He’d circled around the word “sorry” like it was dangerous, like something would break if he actually said it. When he finally knocked, hours later, he'd looked too tired to pretend anymore. You forgave him before he even said the words.

You loved Tommy. Even when he made it hard. In his defense, he had warned you that he wouldn't be easy to love.

Shifting slowly beneath the covers, you stretched your sore muscles, expecting to feel the his side of the bed empty. But he was there. Your husband, sleeping away, still in his clothes. You'd never seen him sleep before.

Tommy had fully surrendered to rest, his breathing deep and even. One arm curled under the pillow, the other resting lightly across the space between you. His face, usually drawn tight with calculation and restraint, looked so different in sleep. He looked softer, younger. There were still shadows beneath his eyes, beneath his long dark lashes. There were still creases at the corners of his mouth. Yet, something about the stillness made him look almost untouched. It was almost like the wars he waged both in his world and in his mind had finally gone quiet.

Would he ever look like that in his waking hours? Or would he always carry all that weight?

You watched him for long moments, trying to memorize this version of him that no one else got to see. You stayed there, wishing he could stay like that for just a few hours. Tommy's lashes fluttered, his breathing deep but uneven, like even in sleep he didn’t quite let go.

You gasped when the kick came. It was sharp and strong, just beneath your ribs. You winced, instinctively pressing a hand to your belly, smoothing the spot in slow, comforting circles. “Alright, love,” you whispered. “It’s alright…”

But he kept at it. Another kick, and another. It was almost like he somehow knew his father was there and he wanted his attention. You sighed, smiling. 

Tommy's hand joined yours, warm and callused. Still half-asleep, his voice was a low rasp. “Easy, lad…” His thumb traced a slow line over the curve of your belly. “Take it easy on your mum, eh?”

You just melted. Every inch of you, tension and all, undone by those quiet words.

A war still waited outside these walls. But in that moment, you were a woman in love with the man beside you, and the child between you. Leaning in, you rested your forehead lightly against his chest. And for a heartbeat, you allowed yourself peace.

“I’m sorry I woke you,” you whispered.

His hand, still warm and steady over your belly, shifted to slide around your waist, pulling you closer. You felt the soft brush of his lips against your hair.

“You didn’t,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep. “He did.” His other hand moved to your back, his fingertips grazing the edge of your spine in slow, grounding circles. 

"We haven't even had a proper wedding night yet," he pointed out in a teasing tone. "Perhaps tonight."

When your hand slid down his body, you found him heated and hard. You carefully squeezed him through his trousers, earning you a low groan. "Why wait for tonight?"

Glancing up, your gaze met his. You didn't miss the heat in his pale blue eyes. "What did you have in mind, Mrs. Shelby?"

You smiled as you sat up, working his belt loose and unfastening his trousers. He helped you push them past his hips. You didn't waste time getting your hands on his cock, one working his shaft, the other cupping his sac, using the motions he taught you. You loved the way he watched you, the way he hardened in your grasp. It didn't take long for his hips to start moving, urging you on.

When you got your mouth on him, the low moan you drew from him made you shiver. His hands slid into your hair, not guiding your movements at first. But as you tasted him, surrounded him with your mouth, those rough fingers urged you to speed up. He started thrusting up into your face, making you gag here and there. Tommy's breath came faster as his heated gaze stayed on you. 

Carefully pushing you back, his hands remained in your hair, pulling you forward to claim your mouth. He kissed you with urgency and growing need. His hands slid down your body, yanking up your nightgown with haste and ripping through your drawers. You let him position you over his cock, but you took control from there. You took your time sliding down him despite his efforts to hurry you. You loved being on top now, riding your husband at your own pace. When he let you...

Tommy gripped your hips as you started to move on him, but you weren't having it. Grabbing his hands in yours, you pressed them down on the bed on either side of his head. You both knew you couldn't hold him there, but he allowed it, his expression softening as he watched you sliding up and down on his cock. You wanted to enjoy your own pace, not race to the end as he often did. You didn't know if it was impatience or he was too worked up to go slow. But this morning, you wanted to make love like this.

Leaning down, you kissed him, keeping it soft and light. Your fingers tightened around his as your moved faster. When you leaned forward, his cock hit the perfect angle and you were quickly reaching your pleasure. Tommy knew, you saw it in his eyes. He started thrusting up into you, and you broke the kiss just so you could breathe. When you kept working him against that perfect spot, it didn't take much to push you over. The rush of pleasure exploded before running through your veins, making you tremble as you rode him. 

Tommy's hands didn't release yours when he swiftly rolled you under him and took over. He held your hands to the bed tightly as he roughly ploughed into you. His dominance was everytthing you wanted in that moment, and it took over the end of your orgasm, dragging it out until your back was arching. Your legs wrapped around his waist and you held on as he moved in you, chasing his own release. When he came, he buried his face against your neck, his breath rushing with yours. 

Rolling to your side, Tommy sprawled on his back, catching his breath. His eyes were closed but he smiled. "If I knew that's how you'd wake me up in the morning... I'd lie in more often."

You laughed. "No you wouldn't."

That had his gaze on you. "You saying my work is more important than my wife?"

You didn't miss the teasing in his tone. "No," you said, still grinning. "I'm saying you wouldn't lie in past dawn, and I'm not willing to wake up that early."

Tommy grinned. "That sounds like a challenge. Now I think I will wake you up bright and early one morning."

"As long as I can go back to sleep after." Pressing a kiss to his forehead, you rose from the bed. 

Stretching, you reached for your robe and tugged it over your shoulders, your steps slow but determined as you headed for the door. You were going to talk to Rory now that you and Tommy were in a good place.

Behind you, you heard the soft rustle of sheets and then his voice, still low and warm. “Take it easy on the lad.”

You paused, hand resting on the doorknob, glancing back over your shoulder. He was watching you, propped up slightly. The early light caught on the sharp angles of his face, and the faintest smirk pulled at his mouth.

You smiled, shaking your head. “No promises.”

He chuckled under his breath, sinking back into the pillows as you slipped out of the room.

The sitting room had become a kind of sanctuary. Bolts of fabric were folded neatly on the sideboard. Thread spools glinted like coins in the morning light. Irene had set up a small ironing board near the window, while Mary, glasses low on her nose, worked a needle through satin with the same precision she used to mend hearts.

The mansion had been tense since Angel’s death, but this room held something gentler. It was quiet, almost normal. You sat cross-legged on the settee beside your mother, mending the dress in your lap. Your needle traced quiet stitches through pale blue cotton. The rhythmic motion helped keep your hands steady, your mind distracted -- though nothing ever stayed quiet for long in this house.

Rory lingered nearby, one arm braced on the back of Irene’s chair. He was supposed to be resting, but he paced more than he sat, and his gaze followed Irene more than anyone. You knew he wanted to get back out there with Tommy, but you didn't think that was all he had on his mind. You knew your brother well enough to read concern on his face. You had a feeling it had to do with Irene's safety. 

Irene had become part of the household rhythm quickly, showing up early with bundles of fabric, helping your mother without complaint, always kind and ready. But she still came and went each day. She didn’t live under Shelby protection at night when she returned to Small Heath. And that gnawed at Rory more and more. You could see it in the way his jaw clenched every time she mentioned walking home. The way his brow furrowed whenever the guards reported anything suspicious near the edge of the property. She wasn’t family, but to Rory, she mattered a great deal.

And maybe, just maybe, that was part of the reason he hadn’t asked Tommy to move her in. Because it wasn’t just about safety, it was about her. And Rory was smitten. He didn’t want to use that word and would probably deny it outright if you asked him. But you saw it in every glance, every excuse to stand close, every time he offered to carry something she could easily manage herself.

You’d let it slide for now. But if Rory wasn’t going to speak up for her protection, you would. Irene reminded you of yourself from not so long ago. Like you, she was pulled into a war she never asked to be part of. Like you, she was the kind of girl men overlooked until the crossfire started. Collateral damage. And you’d be damned if you let that happen again.

Polly was having tea, perched by the fireplace, cigarette half-burned in her hand, watching everything. The quiet shattered with a heavy knock at the door. Your mother looked up. Irene stopped ironing. 

The guard at the door stepped in, holding a small, wrapped parcel. “Package came through addressed to the house. Screened it for wires, nothing inside but this.”

He handed it to you. It was light and square-shaped, wrapped in stiff, off-white paper, with no note on the outside. 

“Give it here,” Rory said quickly, stepping forward.

Mary’s eyes narrowed. “Rory--” 

“Let me. Please.” Your brother didn’t wait for permission. Took it to the low table near the fireplace and peeled the paper slowly, every movement tense. The room was silent but for the soft crackle of paper folding.

Polly watched him closely. Saw it in his face before he even spoke. His fingers paused. 

“Rory?” your voice was sharper now. “What is it?”

"Let me deal with it." Anger bled into his tone. 

No. You were part of this family now and you'd seen enough already. You were on your feet quickly, even before Polly could stop you. When you reached him, you gazed at what had been sent.

A baby rattle. Or what had once been one. The silver was cracked and dented, like it had been smashed under a heavy boot. And splashed with something red... Thick and artificial, but the intent was unmistakable. A destroyed bloody rattle. There was a card beneath it. Three words, typed.

“Every family bleeds.”

No one moved.

Polly stood slowly, her face stone. “Get that out of her sight.”

But it was too late. You'd already seen it. 

All you could do was stare at that rattle, cracked and splattered red, and something in you just... stilled. You didn't feel fear or the numbness that it often brought you. No, it just felt like a line had been drawn somewhere deep inside. You were done with messages, and reminders. Everyone hovering over you. You were absolutely done with pretending that this child inside you hadn’t already been made a target. You'd be damned if anyone would touch your son. You figured out how to use a gun once. You could do it again.

“Rory,” you said in a calm voice, meeting your brother's gaze. “Go get Tommy. Right now.”

The room was so silent in that moment you could have heard a needle drop. You glanced toward Polly, half-expecting a raised brow or a word of caution. She gave a single, almost imperceptible nod before turning back to the fire. She was grinning as she reached for her cigarette case.

Returning your attention back to your brother, you said, "Tell him I’m requesting his presence.”

The office was too quiet today. The usual scrape of chairs, the shuffle of papers, Arthur’s low commentary. None of it settled Tommy today. He stared at the same ledger for ten minutes without reading a single number. He didn’t like the silence anymore. It always meant something was moving in it. Arthur was by the window, muttering about stock shipments and the state of the pub, but Tommy barely registered the words.

That’s when the front door opened fast. No knock or hesitation. It was Rory, and the look on his face had Tommy straightening in his chair. His brother-in-law's expression was grim and serious. Tommy knew that look. 

“What happened?”

Rory didn’t sit, just stopped in front of Tommy's desk. “A package came to the house.” His voice was steady, but clipped. “The guards checked it, then I opened it myself.”

Tommy waited. 

Rory looked him in the eye. “It was for you. But she saw it.” A pause. “She asked me to come get you.”

His wife didn’t send a note or ask a maid. She sent Rory. 

Arthur turned from the window, sensing the shift. “What kind of message?”

Rory hesitated. "One directed at her and the baby."

Tommy was already rising from his chair, grabbing his coat from the back. But even as his hand moved for the buttons, his asked, “Is she alright?”

Rory nodded. “She seems to be.”

Tommy’s brow twitched. Seemed to be? Something had concerned her. Enough to send her brother in person.

Arthur was watching now, arms crossed, all the chatter drained from him. Then he followed them.

She sent Rory for him. That was what stayed with him as he shrugged into his coat, lit a cigarette with an unsteady hand, and snapped the lighter shut. 

“Get the car.”

The drive back was short, and Tommy said nothing. Rory sat beside him, still holding tension in his shoulders as they drew close to the mansion. Arthur drove fast, silent. By the time the mansion came into view, Tommy had already lit his second cigarette. The guards at the gate snapped to attention. One of them started to open his mouth, but Polly was already at the door before they’d parked, calm as ever. Tommy stepped out and flicked the cigarette onto the gravel.

“Where is she?” he asked.

Polly didn’t make him ask twice. “In your study.”

That caught him off guard. His study. Not the sitting room or upstairs where it was quiet and safe.

Polly opened the door for him, motioning Rory and Arthur to follow. Tommy held back just a moment, the entire situation making him feel unsettled. 

His gaze found Polly’s, searching. “Is she alright?”

Polly gave the smallest nod. “She’s fine,” she said. 

He followed her without another word, across the foyer and toward the closed study door. He opened it without knocking, Polly, Arthur, and Rory following him in.

And there she was standing near the desk, her back to him. One hand  on the edge of the polished wood like she needed something solid to anchor herself. At the center of his desk sat the parcel. Wrapped, rewrapped maybe. The contents weren’t visible, but the weight of it was everywhere.

Her gaze locked with Tommy's as they joined her. “I thought we should all see it,” she said, her voice calm. “Together.”

Polly closed the door gently, then took her place near the fireplace. Arthur leaned against the far wall, arms crossed. Rory lingered just behind Tommy.

No one sat or spoke, and the silence thickened.

Tommy looked at the parcel again. His voice low. “Who delivered it?”

“One of your guards,” his wife explained. “He screened it, Rory opened it.”

Tommy’s jaw ticked. He looked to Rory. “And?”

Rory nodded grimly. “See for yourself.” His hand brushed over his ribs out of habit.

The last package had looked harmless too.

Tommy stepped toward the desk. His eyes dropped to the parcel. Her gaze was on him, heavy with expectation. There was something in her eyes that he hadn’t seen since the day she shot a man to save her brother. Resolve. That quiet, unshakable clarity that made men with guns hesitate.

He reached out and peeled the top of the paper back slowly, and no one moved. Arthur stepped closer, his usual swagger stripped down to something leaner. He hadn’t seen it yet either. The paper rustled. And inside, it was exactly as he’d imagined and still worse somehow. A small silver rattle, cracked at the base, and meared with something thick and red. And beneath it, a single slip of card.

“Every family bleeds.”

Tommy stared at it, before letting the paper fall back over the contents like closing a coffin. It was a threat to his wife, and his son inside her. They didn't threaten his business or his men. They threatened her.

He drew in a breath through his nose, long and slow, then turned toward the others. “I need a moment with my wife.”

Arthur gave a short nod and headed for the door, already chewing on whatever plans would come next. Rory lingered, hesitation written across his face, but Polly reached out and touched his arm lightly, and he followed her. She looked back before closing the door behind them, her expression unreadable.

And then it was just the two of them.

Tommy stood for a moment in silence, listening to the fire crackle behind him. Finally, he looked at her.

His wife hadn’t moved. She still stood on the other side of the desk. Steady and too calm.

“I expected to come back to panic,” he said carefully. “Or tears.” Tommy took a step closer, watching her closely in the flicker of firelight. “But you’re not angry or afraid. I need to know why.”

She watched him with steady eyes. And when she finally spoke, it wasn’t with heat or blame. “I realize that message was sent to you,” she said quietly. Her hand drifted, instinctively, to her belly. "But it was meant for me too. For him.”

Tommy’s gaze followed her movement, listened to her words. That soft, protective gesture shook him more than any scream could have.

“I’m part of this family now, Tommy. That’s what our wedding meant.” She crossed the space between them, not quickly, but with purpose. “I shot a man at our wedding reception,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I saw him bleed all over the floor. I can't unsee it."

Tommy just listened.

“I know what kind of world this is now," she went on. "It's the world our son will be born into. My mother had to accept that Rory chose this life. One day, I'll have to do the same.” She paused, holding his gaze. “But what I won’t do, what I can’t do, is be shut out again. Not like when you all went after Angel. Every part of this war touches me just as much as it touches you.”

Her words landed, steady and impossible to argue with. And in that moment, Tommy didn’t just see the woman he’d married. He saw a mother stepping into the fire to protect their son. Standing her ground, right beside him. And for a man who’d spent a lifetime building walls, that kind of loyalty felt like something dangerously close to faith.

She took one more step and placed her hand on his chest, just over the buttons of his waistcoat. “If I’m strong enough to carry your son into this life, I’m strong enough to know what’s coming.”

Tommy looked at her. Really looked at her, the ghost of exhaustion clinging to her face. Beneath it all, she was steady and focused. His wife was young, beautiful. That had been the first thing that pulled him in, the reason he’d stolen her like a man stealing fire. But what he was seeing now… It was that strength he’d told her he’d seen in her, back when she didn’t believe it yet herself. And now, he was watching it bloom in front of him.

His fingers tightened slightly over hers, still resting on his chest. He leaned forward just enough to press his brow to hers, his eyes sliding closed.

“Alright,” he murmured. “We deal with this. Together.”

The curtains were drawn tight. Cigarette smoke curled toward the ceiling, heavy and unmoving. The door closed behind Polly, and for a moment, the only sound was the fire snapping in the hearth.

Tommy stood behind his desk, not sitting. Not for this.

Arthur leaned against the mantle. John dropped into the nearest chair with his usual swagger, but even he looked more tense than usual. Rory sat quietly, the faintest grimace whenever he shifted in the chair. He wasn’t supposed to be out of bed, but no one could convince him to stay there.

And then there was her. Seated just to the right of the desk, calm and patient. She hadn’t said a word since walking in, but her presence shifted the energy in the room.

Tommy lit a cigarette, the flick of the match sharp in the silence. 

“The Changrettas want our fear,” he said. Then, without another word, he reached to the edge of the desk and lifted the small object wrapped in tissue, peeled it back slowly and held it up between two fingers. A delicate, silver baby cracked and smeared in fake blood. 

John stiffened, the look on his face pure indignation since he was a father himself. “What the fuck?”

Tommy didn’t even look at him, setting it back down like a loaded weapon. “They didn’t hit a pub, or torch a car. They didn’t take out one of our men. They sent that to this house.”

No one spoke.

Tommy took a drag, exhaled smoke slow and deliberate. “That was a message.”

Polly nodded once. “It’s personal now. Not just about Angel.”

“Which brings us to Luca Changretta,” Arthur added grimly. “Every whisper from Camden to the Cut says Vicente’s sent for him.”

Tommy nodded. “He's coming from America. He doesn’t ask questions or make demands. Anyone who ever hurt his family, he finds them. Then he finds the people they love. Luca doesn’t come to negotiate, he ends things.”

Glancing toward his wife, he said. “Vicente wants revenge. Luca wants extinction.”

Arthur added grimly, “He’s the kind of man who sends flowers to your widow before the blood dries.”

He saw it then, the flicker of fear in her eyes. Good. She needed to understand what they were facing. But after a moment, she lifted her chin and held steady. A quiet, defiant answer without saying a single word.

Tommy looked away before the fire in his chest could show on his face. She wasn’t the girl he stole anymore. Every day, she grew stronger. Just like Rory had.

John muttered, “Let him come. I’ll shoot the slick bastard myself.”

Tommy gave him a look. “That’s how they expect us to play this, bloody and loud.”

He looked at the woman beside him. “She’s the reason we're not rushing this. They see her as a weakness. My weakness.” He paused. “But they’re wrong.”

Polly looked to her, approving, something proud in her gaze.

Tommy continued. “We wait, and we prepare. We push out quiet rumors that the family’s divided. That we’re afraid. We give them rope.”

Arthur leaned forward. “And when Luca arrives?”

Tommy’s gaze sharpened. "We hang them with it.”

Silence followed but it didn't last long. 

“I want back in.” All eyes turned to Rory. His voice was steady despite the fact that it was obvious that he wasn't fully recovered. “I can handle it.”

Tommy stared at his brother-in-law for a long moment, then said flatly, “You’re already in.”

Rory hadn't expected that answer.

“You’re here,” Tommy went on. “In this room, trusted and needed. You’re protecting our family, Rory. What more important task could I give you?”

There was something in his tone, not patronizing, but pointed. Final. But Rory didn’t push again, giving a sharp nod and sitting back, visibly biting back his frustration.

She saw that look on her brother, like she understood something he didn't know.

“Irene should to stay here until this is over,” his wife said, her voice clear. “The Changrettas will just use her against us if they can get their hands on her.”

Tommy looked at her, then looked back at Rory. While his wife wasn't wrong, he quickly picked up on the other need that decision would address.

“Done,” he said, nodding to Arthur. “Bring her in tonight.”

Arthur gave a short nod, already moving to make it happen.

Tommy caught the quick exhale from Rory. He sat up straighter, his fingers finally relaxing on the arm of the chair. It was about more than duty or strategy. Tommy saw it clear as day. The lad was gone for Irene. For his sake, Tommy sincerely hoped the girl was gone for him too.

And with that, the meeting closed with quiet unity.

War was on the horizon.

You stretched your arms behind your back, working out the stiffness from hours spent hunched over linen seams and tiny buttons. Your mother and Irene were still at the table, laughing over something quietly as they worked, and for a fleeting second, things felt almost normal. Almost peaceful.

Your hand drifted to your middle as your son gave a soft nudge beneath your ribs like he knew it was time. The garden.

It had become your one small slice of calm, twenty minutes a day, no more, always supervised. You were lucky to get it at all. Guards shifted their rotations to cover your path. Polly had insisted on it, and Tommy hadn’t argued.

It wasn’t just about fresh air and your well-being. You needed this. It was the only moment of the day that still felt like yours. No whispers, no gunfire. No locked doors or cautious glances. Just earth, sky, and space to breathe. You nodded to your mother, and stepped outside.

The air was warm, edged with the heat of summer. You loved this space. Out here, among trimmed hedges and winding vines, you could pretend, for just a heartbeat, that your life hadn’t been swallowed whole by violence. That your son might be born into something softer and kinder. 

But you weren’t naïve. You knew the truth now about what kind of world this was. What kind of family you’d married into. But you refused to let fear define even a single minute more of your time.

So you began your walk, coming to a stop when you spotted the man standing just beyond the arbor. He wasn't a guard, nor staff.  You'd never seen the stranger before. 

He was motionless as he stood watching you. His hands were tucked into his coat pockets like he'd been waiting for you. The man's suit, the elegant fedora on his head, was expensive. Too expensive. His eyes were dark and curious beneath a low brow. The crucifix inked on his neck stood out against the white of his collar.

Your stomach dropped. Somehow, you knew who he was. A physical resemblance to Angel was there in the set of his mouth. The posture was similar. But this man's gaze held more calculation than heat.

Luca Changretta.

Every instinct you had told you to run. But what good would it do? You couldn't outrun him and the guards couldn't afford to fire at him, not with you standing there. 

Straightening your spine, you kept walking in his direction. Your movements were slow and deliberate.

Don’t be the damsel in distress he expects. Be strong.

You stopped just a few feet away from him, where you could hear the fountain trickle behind you. Where you could still see the guards in the distance, though they hadn’t noticed him yet.

Your hand moved to cover your tummy, your son. That's when he smiled. He eyed you like he’d just spotted a myth come to life.

And then, softly, almost warmly, he said, “Mrs. Shelby.”

Tommy sat behind his desk in the study with his sleeves rolled up, his shirt open at the collar. The rattle still sat in the drawer beneath his hand. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to put it away yet.

He’s received warnings before, lost men. He’d been shot, betrayed, and nearly broken. But he’s survived all of it.

The rattle? That was different. It hasn't been aimed at him. No, it was about her and his son. It was a threat to what he valued most. Keeping that message in the drawer wasn’t just morbid symbolism, it was strategic. Every time he opened that drawer, he saw it. Every time he sat down to think, to plan, to counterstrike, he was reminded of exactly what’s at stake.

The day had been too quiet. His pen scratched once across the ledger before the door burst open without warning.

“Tommy.”

It was Mary, breathless and alarmed, clutching the edge of her apron.

Tommy stood immediately. “What is it?”

Her eyes were wide, panicked. “Rory said he’s in the garden. With her.”

The words didn’t make sense at first. But her tone registered. And the chill that shot down Tommy’s spine told him what she couldn’t say fast enough. He was already moving.

“Where’s Rory?” he asked, grabbing the revolver from his drawer, jamming it into the holster at his back.

“He went back out there,” Mary told him. “He sent me to find you, said to tell you it’s him."

Tommy’s blood turned cold. Jesus Christ.

"Keep everyone else in the house," he bid her, storming past her, down the hallway and toward the rear of the house. Every step felt like thunder cracking through his ribs. The last time someone slipped past his perimeter, there’d been blood on her blue dress. 

He was grateful for Rory. The lad had quick eyes, thought fast on his feet. He hadn’t gone in guns blazing or shouted for backup like a reckless man trying to prove something. He’d seen the threat and tipped off the guards quietly, because he knew exactly what was at stake.

It was moments like this that reminded Tommy why Rory belonged with them as a Blinder.

And now, he would handle the rest.

Luca Changretta stood just beneath the arbor, half-shadowed by curling vines and gold-dusted leaves. His expression was pleasant, curious, even. 

“Mrs. Shelby,” he said=. His accent was smoother than Angel’s had been. He sounded more American, less Italian. “You’re even more beautiful than they said. Like Helen of Troy.”

You took a deep, steadying breath. Otherwise, you fought to keep from reacting to anything he said.

“The face that launched a thousand deaths,” he added with quiet admiration. “I see now. I understand.”

You lifted your chin. “We got your message a few days ago. The rattle.”

Luca’s smile faded. He gave a slow shake of his head. “Oh, that wasn’t from me. That was my father.”

Was that supposed to make it better? You said nothing, letting the silence draw it out. 

“He’s old school,” Luca added. “He likes symbols. Drama. It makes him feel in control.”

You sighed, taking a step back. “Drama, yes... Like the exploding flowers that were delivered to me.”

Luca said nothing.

“He also sent a man to my wedding," you continued. "My brother was shot in front of me.”

Some emotion flashed in Luca's eyes, a breath of recognition. Maybe even disappointment.

“My apologies,” he said finally. “But, I’m not my father.”

“No,” you said. “I think you’re worse.”

His smile returned, like he found you more interesting than he'd expected.

"And you, as I understand it, shot my father's man yourself," Luca said, his gaze locking with yours. “That’s the part I liked most in the story. The bride holding the gun. The assassin dead at your feet. The women in my family are brave too, but... You, Mrs. Shelby, you didn’t hesitate.”

Your heart pounded, but you didn’t back away.

Luca glanced toward your belly. “Most women, standing where you are now, would be crying or begging. But not you,” he said again, almost reverent. He blew out a sigh. “I’ve been wondering. How exactly did a girl like you end up here at the center of all this violence? I've heard stories.”

Luca stepped closer. You didn’t move.

“Is it true what they say?” he asked. “That Tommy Shelby got you in a coin toss? That he just picked the most beautiful flower out of this coal-dusted garden for himself?”

Your fingers flexed over your tummy. How quickly his charm had given way to mental games. You focused on staying calm. The longer you talked, the better your chances of someone coming to help you.

“Did you agree to marry him?” His voice dipped, each word silk and venom. “Was it love? Or did he just load a baby into you and call that a wedding?”

Now, he was baiting you, but you weren't going to give him the reaction he wanted.

You looked him in the eye. “I chose to marry him.” Your kept your voice even. “I chose him knowing exactly who he was.”

Luca’s smile twitched at the edge, but he said nothing.

“I love him,” you said. "Isn't that what you want to hear? Does that add to your enjoyment?"

His smile returned. 

“I’ve been through quite a bit because of the differences between our two families,” you said. “But none of that scared me as much as the idea that something might happen to the people I love. But you know that. That's why you're saying these things.”

He held your gaze. You didn't think the man had even blinked.

“I know what you've come here to do," you told him. "But whoever you think I am, Mr. Changretta, know this. I won’t let you use me to hurt him.”

Luca’s eyes stayed on you for a long moment. His smile faded and he looked almost sorrowful.

“I believe you,” he said. The quiet honesty of his tone made your stomach turn. "I believe you love him. And I believe you’d do anything to protect that child.”

He blew out an exhale. A breeze rustled through the arbor. Still, you didn’t move.

“That’s what makes this so hard. I am going to hurt the people you love, Mrs. Shelby,” he said softly, like he was offering condolences. “That’s what a vendetta is. It’s not about business or deals. It’s blood for blood. And where I’m from, it doesn’t end until every name is crossed out.” He let that hang over you. “Including yours."

You tried to force a laugh but it came out more like a scoff.

"You're going to kill me because your brother wanted a woman who wasn't his?" You hated the sincerity in your voice as you asked that question.

Luca’s smile didn’t move, but his eyes darkened slightly. “He's still my brother.”

“Your brother didn’t get his way," you went on. "Not with Lizzie, and not with me.”

His silence felt heavy. Almost respectful.

“And for that,” you went on, “your father sent a man to my wedding. To kill my husband. To kill me and my baby too? Does that seem reasonable to you?"

“Reason,” Luca said quietly, “has nothing to do with it. This isn’t about fairness. It’s about blood. About pride.” His dark-eyed gaze moved over you. “My father saw your husband take something he believed belonged to us. He sent a message.” Another step. His voice dipped lower. “And when Angel died… you became the reason. But you… you make it harder than it should be.”

The admiration in his voice, in his gaze stopped you for a moment. “So it doesn't matter what he did.”

He gave a slow nod. “That’s the difference between us, Mrs. Shelby,” he said. “You think this is about right and wrong. About what a man deserves. I think it’s about family. And I won’t stop until every last one of yours is buried.”

You felt your baby move under your hand, and you were grateful in that moment for that reminder of what was important.

Luca looked at you like he was seeing something tragic while you were still reeling from the threat of his words. “A shame,” he murmured. “Really.”

You just listened, hoping he didn't notice you'd started shaking.

“You know, I understand now,” Luca went on. “How a man like Tommy Shelby fell under your spell. Why Angel wanted you as much as he did. You're more than a pretty face. In another life…” His gaze drifted lower, lingered too long. "I would’ve torn the world apart for a woman like you.”

Your skin prickled, and you stepped back instinctively. That small shift, that unspoken refusal, made his eyes darken.

Luca moved, slowly. Enough to tell you what he might do next. His hand halfway raised, his head slightly tilted as he leaned in.

Was he trying to kiss you?

“I wouldn’t." Tommy's voice was low, deadly.

Luca didn't seem surprised.

Your heart stuttered, then surged with sudden relief as Tommy stepped from the shadows. You body reacted, feet pounding the stone path. You ran straight for him. He caught you without hesitation, arms locking around you like steel and warmth all at once.

Behind you, Luca hadn’t moved.

But Tommy’s hold was all tension now, alive with rage barely leashed beneath his calm. You looked up at him, and he gave you a subtle nod. I’ve got you.

He let go only long enough to ease you behind him.

She was safe. It was the only reason Luca Changretta was still breathing.

Tommy stared him down across the garden path, pulling his gun and drawing on the man.

Luca adjusted the cuffs of his coat, unmoved. “I had to see what all the fuss was about.”

Tommy didn’t answer.

Luca glanced toward her. Tommy’s hand tightened around the weapon in his hand.

“She’s… remarkable,” Luca said. “You do have an eye for beautiful things, Mr. Shelby.”

Tommy’s voice came low and flat. “Your business is with me.”

A beat passed. The wind rustled the hedges like an exhale.

“I think it’s time we spoke properly,” Luca said.

Tommy’s eyes narrowed.

“Someplace neutral,” Luca continued. “You and me. No wives. No brothers. No guns.” His smile returned, slow and venomous. “Not until after we talk.”

Tommy didn’t move. “Name the place.”

Luca reached into his coat slowly, pulling out a card. He handed it to one of the guards who emerged nearby, never taking his eyes off Tommy.

“Noon. Tomorrow.”

Tommy didn’t take his eyes off Luca until he was gone.

Only then did he turn around. She was still standing exactly where he’d left her. Tommy couldn’t kill him there and the bastard knew it. She'd been standing there. One misstep, one snap of his fingers, and garden would’ve become a war zone, with her and his child caught in the middle.

Fury still boiled under his skin. The bastard had been about to touch her.

But pride crept in too, stronger than his rage. Tommy had watched her handle herself with Luca Changretta, a man who made most gangsters sweat just by walking into a room. Her voice hadn’t wavered. His wife hadn’t just survived that conversation. She defied it. And now, she stood there, guarded but not broken.

Tommy pulled her into his arms, felt her entire body trembling against him. He pressed a kiss into her hair, trying to calm himself as much as he was trying to calm her.

He saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Rory stepped into the path ahead, blocking their way back to the house. Her brother's eyes lit up in anger as he held up the card Changretta handed him. Tommy recognized his-brother-in-law's restraint, and it was hanging by a thread.

Four guards flanked him, looking uncertain and waiting for a signal.

Rory’s gaze dropped to his sister. “Are you alright?” Tommy didn’t miss the way his hand curled into a fist at his side.

She looked at her brother and gave a single nod. Only then did Rory step back, clearing the path. Tommy guided her forward.

“Come on,” he said again, lower this time. “Let’s get you inside.”

On the inside, Tommy was burning. He’d heard every word, every threat and every truth. And he couldn’t shake Luca Changretta's words to his wife.

In another life... I would’ve torn the world apart for a woman like you.

Tommy’s jaw clenched, his grip on her tightening just slightly as he led her into the house. 

No. Not in another life. Not in any life. She wasn’t Luca Changretta’s fantasy. She was his world. Tommy didn’t need another life to tear the world apart for her.

He was already doing it.

@outlanderuniverse @alyssajunelle @gothic-chinadoll @sparda1234 @mrsnms @alexakeyloveloki @theinheriteddutchess @wiseyouthingluencer @lovinglimerence @goldensunflowe-r @andydrysdalerogers @hellfirehopeless @wantedby-larry @mariaenchanted @moonbeamott @thetamtam9 @ayeeeitsmiracle @atlas-of-a-human-soul

[lilchamomil]

Hair texture tutorial.

Hello!

While I'm doing a new hairstyle, I wanted to share one topic that has been on my mind for a long time. I finally figured out a more or less easy way to create textures, and I really, really want to share it. I'm not going to explain the basics, so I expect that you already understand basic concepts like uv, and are familiar with baking ui in blender and know shader nodes basics (please, enable node wrangler...)

Also you'll need this add-ons for better uv manipulation and uv-packing

FIRST STEP - UV

To begin with, we need a hair model, preferably one you’ve created yourself. However, game hairstyles also partially fit these requirements, since they're colored in a similar way. I’m basically trying to replicate something close to the Maxis pipeline using the tools and methods I have.

The model should be unwrapped and shouldn’t have overlapping UV islands. If you used hair curves, your UVs are probably already rectangular. Just rotate and resize them as you normally would when applying game textures.

You can place some UV islands in the head’s texture space, where the hairstyle overlaps the mesh. You can also check the game textures for reference. There’s usually plenty of space used by the hair textures, not just that tiny rectangle in the top-left corner.

This is how my UV looks like:

To achieve this result, you can use free add-ons for uv packing such as UV-packer.

I prefer hand modeling over using curves, so my UVs look a bit different. I used the UV manipulation add-on I mentioned earlier to get them this way, but that’s not the topic for today.

IMPORTANT: All UV islands should be as straight as possible and oriented vertically. Otherwise, this method won’t work. This is crucial because the noise texture stretches vertically to imitate hair strands. It’s too time-consuming to handpaint them, and honestly, no one really does that.

SECOND STEP - Material setup

I - Go to the Shading tab. We’ll set up a small procedural node material.

If you’re not familiar with the shader editor or how nodes work, I recommend watching a few blender tutorials on the basics first. Othervise my instructions may be confusing for you.

You’ll need two nodes to start with: Ambient Occlusion and Noise Texture. Above, you can see an example of what you should get using this setup.

Use a UV Map node with your hair UVs. Usually, it’s called uv_0, or just UVMap if you haven’t renamed it yet. (I have multiple UV sets in my project because I was experimenting a bit.)

To get the correct mapping for the noise texture, connect the UV Map node to a Mapping node, and make sure you stretch the texture along the Y axis. This is exactly why your UV islands need to be aligned vertically, so the strands flow in the right direction.

I usually set the Noise Texture scale to 100–200 to get a nice strand-like effect.

Plug the Ambient Occlusion node into a Color Ramp to reverse the colors and adjust the contrast. Do the same with the Noise Texture. I recommend it to tone down the strong contrast a bit.

If you have the Node Wrangler add-on enabled (which I highly recommend), you can press Ctrl+Shift and click on a node to preview its output.

Use the result from the Ambient Occlusion Color Ramp as the Factor (think of it like a mask in Photoshop) in a MixRGB (color mix) node. Then, plug the result from the Noise Texture Color Ramp into the A socket, and set the blend mode to Multiply (again, just like in Photoshop).

You can control how dark the ambient occlusion appears by adjusting the color in the B socket of the color mix node.

After, I plug result into color ramp again to adjust contrast.

II (optional) - gradient.

Though not necessary, I do it to add a little variation to tones. You may skip it.

It makes little difference - but don't make mixing factor too high or it will be too dark later.

III - Principled BSDF and lighting setup for baking.

Although stretched noise texture with occlusion works wonders, hair wouldn't be hair if it didn't have shine. This “shine”, although it can be painted, is in most cases just baked-in highlights.

First, change the render engine to cycles and set following options:

You don't need too high amount of samples.

You'll need a little scene setup. If you have any lights, delete them.

Then, create two cylinders and delete top and bottom side. in the modeling make something like in the screenshot. Sometimes one cylinder above is enough.

Create material for them and use simple emission node. This cylinders are necessary for that gloss effect hair does have.

Create area light and scale. Put it above head - and set power around 10, not too strong.

In left top corner of shader editor switch to the world. Set it to black.

Go back into object shader editing. Select your hair in edit mode. Create Principled bsdf and empty image texture ( 1024*2048 or 2x bigger). Remember noise texture? Create bump node and plug it into height. Copy the values below to make effect subtle. Plug bump node to normal.

In principled bsdf, set metallic 1, roughness around 0.4. Open specular tab and put anisotroptic to 1. Create tangent node, change to Uv map, choose your map and plut tangent node into tangent.

Don't forget to plug principled bsdf into Material output node!!

Phew, setup is done! Go into render preview and enjoy results!

It should look like this:

Now we have to bake this. it's easy - go into render tab again, scroll down and open bake menu. Open margin menu and set 8 px at least - or more (just cut later to hair area). Change magrin type to extend.

Now, select your object - and select Uv map you're baking to. In shader tab, select blank texture you had created before. Go into render tab again, and in the baking menu press bake. Now wait - and voila!

Now go back into the shader editor and plug the texture into the color mixing node into B. Plug into A procedural texture we're done before. Set mode to Soft light.

Now, since you know how to bake I won't explain it over again - create new blank texture with same resolution and bake result to it.

Save the texture and color it in any graphic editor you have with gradient maps. You may adjust texture contrast we're created before, but that's all.

You're done!

[devilish-cherry]

ᨳ♡₊➳ choso x reader

ᨳ♡₊➳ hurt/comfort, fluff, crack

ᨳ♡₊➳ archive of our own

"You're an artist, a recluse, and a freshly heartbroken wreck whose idea of human contact is apologizing to your Amazon delivery guy. Your anxiety is so aggressive it could qualify for its own horror movie. And then your neighbor moves in. He doesn't get people. You don't get people. Somehow, you get each other. You didn't mean to talk to him. You didn't mean to care. But the more you both fumble through shared silences and botched small talk, the harder it is to pretend you're not watching each other heal, inch by awkward inch."

꒰ chapter 1 ꒱ ₊⊹. ꒰ chapter 3 ꒱

ᨳ♡₊➳ a/n: it's awkward family dinner simulator 3000 and you've been drafted into emotional buffer duty.

good luck soldier. 🫡

You don't even realize how long you've been staring at the same clump of rice until Luna smacks your chopsticks out of your hand. Again.

You blink. Look down at the sad little delivery bento sitting on your lap. Then at your cat, perched on the armrest with the judgmental fury of a parent who just caught their kid eating glue.

"Okay, okay," you mutter. "Message received, officer."

It's a Wednesday, you think. Maybe Thursday. Days are soup. You're supposed to be sketching a deadline comic, but the only thing you've drawn in an hour is a lopsided circle with "why bother" written inside it. Your phone's face down, but you can still feel the gravity of all the messages you're ignoring. Work. Your mom. Your editor, who started using more emojis the longer you go dark, like she thinks that'll soften the blow of responsibility.

You scratch Luna under the chin and she leans in, purring. "You'd tell me if I started going full goblin, right?" you ask.

She licks her paw and wipes her face, regal and unimpressed. You take that as a 'no.' She's probably thinking about all the times she's had to witness you cry over a man who wouldn't even refill her water bowl.

The room smells like stale instant noodles and energy drinks. It's embarrassing, but you can't bring yourself to care enough to clean. You shuffle to the window and crack it open just enough to let in a breeze. Outside, the city hums quietly, soft and far away. You watch the clouds drift by, trying to remember if you ever felt normal.

Today, you're going to try to do something normal. Like a real person. You even put on pants. Not real pants. Just a pair of cute oversized Hello Kitty sweatpants you panic ordered during your last mental breakdown. But still. It counts. The point is: you're going outside.

You have a plan. A very simple plan. It is:

Go to the corner store.

Buy the same three snacks you always used to buy.

Return to your apartment like a socially anxious raccoon.

You throw on your hoodie, the one that's basically become your armor against the terrifying world of eye contact and casual human interaction, and mumble something to Luna about not dying while you're gone. She doesn't even look up.

The hallway outside is quiet. That's the only reason you're brave enough to venture out today. Since moving here, you've memorized the neighbor schedules like your life depends on it. (It does. In an emotional, "please don't talk to me or I'll die" kind of way.)

You're halfway down the hall when you hear it: rapid footsteps, light but urgent. Your fight or flight system immediately activates, and you freeze. Maybe if you're still enough, whoever's coming won't see you. Maybe you'll just merge with the wall, become another patch of ugly wallpaper.

You barely have time to glance up before you almost collide.

"Oh, woah! Sorry!" A pink haired boy stands two feet from you. He looks to be younger than you, with wide eyes and pink hair styled in an undercut. He's wearing a hoodie that looks like he slept in it, and sneakers so red they might've been legally declared a hazard. He looks like a character from a shounen anime came to life and walked straight into your emotionally fragile existence.

"Are you okay?" he asks, voice boyish, kind. "That was my bad. I wasn't looking."

You should say something. Anything. But your throat locks up. You nod instead, quick and awkward.

He grins, unfazed. "Sorry again, I was in a hurry. I'm trying to find apartment 502. You know where it is?" He asks, hopeful, like you're the tutorial NPC he's been searching for.

You point to the door right next to yours.

"Ah, awesome! Thanks!" He looks at the number, then back at you. There's a pause. "Wait, are you Choso's neighbor?"

You nod. Again.

He brightens. "Cool! He said you were quiet. I'm Yuji. I'm… his brother."

There's a pause. A long one. A pause so heavy it needs its own ZIP code.

You're too polite to say "brother???" out loud. But your face says it anyway.

"Oh," you say instead, because it's the only sound your brain will allow.

He laughs, sheepish, and scratches the back of his neck. "Yeah, it's weird. We just met. Kind of. It's… uh, complicated. Family stuff."

You nod like you understand, even though you definitely do not. "Cool."

Why are you like this. Why are you like this.

Before either of you can say anything else, the door to 502 opens. Choso steps out, slow and solemn like he's emerging from a tomb. He looks the same as ever. Tall, serious, dark eyes ringed in that mysterious violet shadow. But when he sees Yuji, something in his expression softens.

"Yuji," he says. The word is soft, careful.

Yuji straightens. "Hey. Sup."

Choso nods. He's so rigid you think he might actually shatter if someone so much as nudged him. Then he turns and sees you.

"Hi," you say, voice quiet.

"Hi," he greets back. And then he turns to Yuji. "Did you get lost?"

Yuji chuckles. "No, just – well, yeah, a little. I got distracted."

You almost miss it, but there's something raw in the way Choso watches Yuji. A quiet desperation dressed up in stoicism. You can feel it.

And Yuji –

Yuji won't meet his eyes.

He fidgets, looking from you to Choso, then blurts, "Hey, do you wanna join us for dinner?"

Your brain short circuits.

Choso blinks, confused. "They don't have to–"

"No, seriously," Yuji insists, glancing at you. "They live next door, right? It's chill. Might be fun. You've got enough food for three, right?"

Choso hesitates, then nods, the movement slow and mechanical. "Yes. I planned for leftovers."

Yuji looks at you. Pleading, almost. His eyes are begging.

You hesitate. You really hesitate.

The right thing to say is, "Oh no, I couldn't possibly intrude," followed by some socially acceptable excuse like, "My cat's on fire," or "I'm allergic to food."

But instead, you stand there, caught between "yes," "no," and the crushing weight of people's expectations.

Yuji keeps staring at you, eyebrows raised, please please please radiating off of him like a signal flare.

Choso watches you too, but his expression is unreadable in that vaguely haunted, cryptid way he does.

"Um. Sure. I mean – if it's okay." you say. Voice too soft, too fast, like your fight or flight chose fawn again.

Choso nods, as if you just confirmed gravity. "It is. Yuji invited you."

"Yeah," Yuji says quickly, grinning. "Totally okay! Come on in. The more the less weird."

You're 98% sure he meant to say merrier but your brain is already frantically screaming into its own hands.

You just nod, dumb and overwhelmed and trying not to melt through the floor. Choso steps aside wordlessly, holding the door open. His expression doesn't shift. Still that neutral, unreadable blankness. Still that vaguely spooky aura.

You follow them inside, feeling like you're about to walk into an episode of a reality show you definitely didn't audition for. You glance back at your door, wondering if Luna will survive an hour without you. The urge to run is strong, but you swallow it down and step inside.

Choso's apartment looks almost like yours, except much cleaner. The curtains are drawn so tightly that no light filters in. There's barely any furniture. A couch that looks secondhand and broken in. A low table with no coasters. A lone bookshelf populated with exactly five books. There are still boxes in the corner, neatly stacked.

You don't see any photos. No framed art. Not even a calendar on the wall.

You step out of your shoes slowly, because it feels like the kind of place that demands quiet, like noise might unsettle the balance here.

Yuji wanders further in, beelining for the kitchen counter. "So! Uh… food! Choso, what did you make?"

Choso turns toward the kitchen. "Rice. And curry. Also, I boiled eggs." He delivers it with the solemnity of a war report.

"Nice! Eggs are protein. That's good, right? It's, like, healthy and stuff. My grandpa always said you should eat eggs with every meal! Or maybe that was noodles…"

Choso nods, serious. "Eggs are a complete protein," 

Yuji opens a cabinet, peeks inside, then closes it again, clearly just needing something to do with his hands. Then he turns to you. "Do you, uh, eat eggs?"

You nod. "Yeah. I mean, I'm not… eggphobic or anything."

The silence that follows is so awkward it feels like it should be illegal. You're convinced somewhere, the universe is facepalming. Choso doesn't seem fazed. If anything, he looks… relieved? Like someone else finally said something weird so he doesn't have to carry the team alone.

Yuji glances between you and Choso, and you swear he physically wilts at the shared stillness between you two. "Sooo… you guys know each other already, huh? Neighbors and all. That's… cool. Great."

You and Choso both nod, at the same time, same awkward, bobblehead rhythm.

Yuji is not built for this kind of energy. He tries again, valiantly. "So, uh… how long have you been living here?" He aims the question at you, like you're the less intimidating cryptid. The question is simple, but your brain glitches like a poorly coded NPC.

You frown in concentration, like you're trying to remember your own lore. "A few years."

Nailed it. Social interaction: Achieved.

Yuji looks like he's about to weep. "Cool. Cool, cool, cool. Awesome." His voice cracks on the last word.

You wonder if this is what an out of body experience feels like.

Choso, perhaps trying to help, offers, "They have a cat. Her name is Luna. She isn't lactose intolerant."

You die inside. Again.

Yuji's face does something complicated. He looks at you. You look at him. You both look at Choso.

Yuji recovers with the energy of someone clinging to a lifeboat. Shifting back into that earnest, enthusiastic vibe he's been defaulting to since you met him. "Cats are great! I love cats. I'm kind of allergic, though, so I mostly just watch cat videos. Like, all the time. Like, my entire 'For You Page' is just cats. And food videos. And this one guy who makes sushi out of weird stuff. You guys ever seen those?"

You nod, grateful for the verbal chaos. "Yeah. There's, uh… a guy who makes tiny food for his hamster. I watch that. Sometimes. When I can't sleep."

Choso perks up just slightly. "I have seen that. The hamster is very small."

You reach for the tea sitting on the counter. So does Choso. Your fingers almost brush and you both retract like you just got electrocuted.

"Sorry," he murmurs.

"No, I'm sorry," you whisper, immediately.

Yuji side-eyes both of you. His lips part like he's going to say something. But then he just squints, eyes flicking back and forth like he's watching a YouTube video in 144p.

Choso plates the food with military precision, scooping curry and rice like it's a sacred ritual. You help, handing him a spoon without a word, and he accepts it with both hands.

Yuji goes on, tossing questions at you, but it's not just small talk. He wants distractions. You can see it in how his eyes flick to Choso, then away. He sits cross-legged at the table, voice too fast and too full of effort. "I, uh, didn't think I'd be visiting so soon. But I had a free day and figured I'd check in. Choso's still kind of new to, you know… this whole… apartment thing."

Choso's expression doesn't change, but you see the slightest shift. Not annoyance. More like... shame. Or nerves, maybe.

Yuji adds quickly, "Not that you're doing bad! You're, like, doing great! Super domestic. Look at this curry, man. You boiled eggs."

You watch Choso absorb the compliment like a person who's never gotten one before. He nods slowly, staring at the rice like it might vanish if he blinks.

Dinner is quiet. Not unkindly quiet. Just... filled with unsaid things.

Yuji's trying too hard. You can see it. Hear it. He makes jokes that don't quite land, tries to bridge the space between them with pure charisma alone. But every time Choso speaks, it's stiff. Formal. Too measured. He's trying too. But his trying looks different. His trying looks like silence, like nodding at the right time, like carefully accepting the spoon with two hands.

You should feel out of place. You should feel like you're intruding. But the thing is – Yuji keeps watching Choso like he's not sure if he's forgiven him for something yet. Choso keeps watching Yuji like he's afraid he'll disappear.

And you – awkward, exhausted, half-rotted from depression – recognize it. You know that look. That desperate, silent clinging. The aching belief that if you just stay, if you just eat the curry and say the right things, maybe people won't leave.

You stir your rice without eating it. Your stomach's full of nerves. Your hands are sweating.

You glance at Choso and catch him looking at you. Not in a creepy way. Not even in a curious way. More like… wondering. Like he still doesn't understand what to make of you, but he's relieved you haven't bolted yet.

He looks away first.

After dinner, Yuji is the first to break. You watch it happen in real time. He fiddles with his phone, chews his bottom lip, glances at the clock for the fifth time in as many minutes. It's the kind of fidgeting that says 'I want to leave but I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings.' You've done it a million times before. At birthdays. Family dinners. That one time your ex's mom tried to guilt you into giving up your dream career for "stability."

You get it. The energy here is weird. You don't know what happened between them. It's above your paygrade, but there's a weight here, a history you can't even begin to guess.

Choso keeps glancing at him when Yuji isn't looking. Not intensely. Desperate, but quiet about it. He doesn't know what to do with his hands. He copies Yuji's posture, straightens when Yuji straightens, adjusts his chopsticks the same way. It's subtle, but it's there.

Eventually, Yuji pushes back from the table, plates stacked neatly. "I, uh, should get going. Gotta meet up with Fushiguro." He grins at you, bright but fleeting. "Nice meeting you. Don't be a stranger, okay?"

You mumble something that could be "Thank you for the food," or "Please let me evaporate." Honestly, you can't even tell.

He turns to Choso, slower this time. His voice dips just slightly. "Thanks for dinner, bro."

Choso nods, rigid. "Be careful, Yuji."

There's a pause. A beat longer than it should be.

Yuji hesitates in the doorway, hand halfway to the knob. "Yeah. I will. You too." His gaze flicks to Choso again, one last glance, and then he slips out.

The door clicks shut behind him.

It's just you now. And Choso.

And the silence.

A long, long silence.

You glance at Choso, unsure if you should linger or just ghost out the door. He stays frozen in place, still standing beside the table, his eyes trailing the door like he can still see Yuji on the other side. He begins to gather the plates, carefully stacking bowls as if he's trying to solve an emotional equation with ceramics.

You swallow. "Um. Thanks for dinner. It was good."

He doesn't look up. "Sorry it wasn't better. I'm… still learning."

You hover awkwardly near the couch, arms tucked into the sleeves of your hoodie like they're hiding. "Honestly, I mostly eat instant ramen and whatever snacks I find on sale. You're already ahead of me."

Choso lifts his gaze. "You're very kind. Thank you."

The words hit you harder than you expect. Not because of what he says, but how earnestly he says it.

You blink. "For what?"

He places the last bowl on the counter and stands straight, shoulders taut. "For making Yuji feel normal. He hasn't... had a lot of that. He's not comfortable around me. Not yet. " He pauses, then adds, voice low, "I keep thinking if I just try harder, maybe it'll feel normal."

You nod, your throat suddenly tight. "Families are… complicated."

His gaze finds you again. This time, it lingers. "I want to do things right. But I don't always know what that is."

You don't say anything. You can't. Because if you open your mouth, you're afraid the grief will come spilling out – not just for him, but for yourself.

Choso walks you to the door, hands loose at his sides, face unreadable. You step into the hallway, hesitating in the doorway. He stops behind you, just before the threshold, like there's a line he's not sure he's allowed to cross.

You turn back, awkward and fidgety, but you don't want to go. Not really. You just don't know how to stay.

"Um. If you ever… want to talk, or need to borrow, like, soy sauce or… whatever. I'm next door. Unless I'm, like, dead. Or asleep. Or… emotionally unavailable." The words tumble out.

Choso nods, slow. "I'll remember that."

You linger for a moment, neither of you quite sure how to say goodbye. Then you offer a small, wobbly smile. "Goodnight, Choso."

He inclines his head. Not smiling, but there's something lighter in his posture. "Goodnight."

You turn, heart skittering like a startled animal, and slip into your own apartment. The moment the door clicks shut behind you, your lungs finally exhale like they've been tied up in knots for hours.

Luna is waiting, perched like a little void on the couch, tail curled primly around her feet, eyes sharp and unamused.

You plop onto the floor, mind buzzing. But not the usual, angry swarm. No doom loop about your ex. No spiraling over texts left on read. You'd spent the last hour not thinking about any of it at all. You'd just… been with people. The room is the same as you left it – messy, chaotic, half-rotting with old grief – but the weight in your chest is lighter somehow.

Luna trots over, sniffs your hoodie, then climbs into your lap and curls up. You stroke her fur absentmindedly, the repetitive motion grounding you.

"I survived dinner," you whisper. "And I think… I made a friend."

Luna purrs. You take it as a sign.

ᨳ♡₊➳ a/n: reader's social anxiety vs. yuji's trauma vs. choso's guilt 🧍‍♀️

thanks for reading, i've been having so much fun writing this fic and i hope you enjoyed! 🖤

[midnight-drip]

@lautski-week day 6 — home!

steph is coming to pete's house for the first time, and he's got everything planned out so this night goes perfectly. there's just one little thing he fails to keep in mind— this is the spankoffski house. nothing can ever be perfect.

first, when they arrive, he finds ted sitting on the couch in what is possibly the most hideous t-shirt pete has ever seen. normally, he wouldn't mind. ted lived in his own apartment downtown, but he still had a key to the house, and he came and went as he pleased. pete was happy to see him, but he wished ted hadn't decided to come home tonight of all nights. he pulled ted aside, awkwardly explaining that steph was over and saying he was sorry for asking this but, see, their parents weren't home, so he really was thinking tonight would be just for him and steph, so would he please just go somewhere else for the evening?

"yeah, okay," ted acquiesced after a moment of thinking. "I'll go home, let you two have the place to yourselves, eh?" he nudged pete playfully, wiggling his eyebrows. "you know what I mean?"

"it's not like that, ted," pete muttered, shoving his brother gently. "but thanks."

"yeah, yeah, yeah. have fun." ted ruffled his hair, grabbing his things and heading out.

with him gone, pete felt a small weight off his shoulders. now he could get down to work making the perfect night. he turned to steph, smiling.

"I'll get started on dinner. you wanna pick a movie to watch while it's cooking? t.v.'s just over there," he said, pointing steph in the right direction as he walked around the kitchen island and started getting everything ready.

after getting the food into the oven, he walked around to the couch, sitting beside steph. she'd put on some shitty horror film— steph had this odd love for bad movies that pete never quite understood. he had to admit, though, the stupid writing and awkward cgi was kind of growing on him. steph leaned her head on his shoulder, and pete sat there, trying really hard not to talk. he knew that with ruth and richie, it was fine to yap all throughout a film, pointing out little details and fun facts and correcting things— but he didn't yet know how steph would feel about that little habit of his, so he'd been trying to keep the interrupting to a minimum when watching things with her.

suddenly, there was a loud *pop* from the kitchen, making both steph and pete jolt. pete jumped up from the couch, stumbling his way into the kitchen and trying to figure out what had gone wrong. carefully, he opened the oven, taking out the chicken that had been cooking in there.

shit.

it was burnt, and it looked to be that way all the way through. suddenly he remembered something his mother had said earlier that week. the oven needs fixing. he wanted to punch himself. how could he have forgotten? he put the burnt chicken into the compost, sighing. so much for a nice, home-cooked meal.

"uh, so... change of plans, I suppose. I— but— that's okay! we have some leftovers in the fridge, so I guess I'll just—"

there was a gentle crackling noise. the movie stopped, and the t.v. screen went black. then, so did the rest of the room.

everything was going wrong. pete felt like his head was spinning, and he buried his face in his hands and groaned.

then he felt a soft hand on his shoulder.

"woah, hey. are you okay?" steph smiled at him, her eyes warm. pete felt his face flush. god, even in the dark, it was like she herself was glowing.

"I'm sorry, steph. I— I wanted this to be perfect, but now... I mean, nothing is going the way I planned. it's turning out to be a total trainwreck. I'm sorry."

"hey. it's not a trainwreck. so what if it's not going to plan? maybe we need to rework the plan."

"rework the plan," he repeated, quietly. "right. okay. yeah."

pete took a deep breath, looking around the kitchen.

"let's rework, then. there's candles just under the sink, there, do you mind lighting a few of those? and I'll... I'll boil a pot of water, there's instant noodles in the pantry."

steph nodded, taking the candles out and starting to place them around the house. she kept looking back at pete as he wandered around the kitchen, thinking aloud.

when the candles were put up around the living room, she returned to the kitchen. pete put two bowls of instant ramen onto the little kitchen island, and the two ate together. afterwards, steph offered to clean the dishes, but pete insisted on doing it himself.

"huh," he remarked when he was finished. "there's still lots of hot water left. I think I'm going to make hot chocolate, uh, would you like some? or coffee? tea?"

"tea would be nice, thanks."

"of course."

as pete set to getting the drinks ready, steph began to talk to him. pete was still a little worked up over everything that had happened, and at first, he thought she was just talking in an attempt to calm him down. still, though, he listened to her. he would always listen to her.

if relaxing him had been her goal, she'd succeeded— by the time he was sliding her mug across the kitchen island, he felt a lot more comfortable with how the evening was going. they went to the couch and curled up together, cradling the mugs in their hands.

"steph?"

"mm?"

"tell me the truth, here. are you really not upset at me about how this night went?"

steph blinked at him.

"why would I be upset with you? nothing that happened was your fault. besides—" she leaned a little closer to him. "I had a good time tonight."

"really?" pete turned to look at her, surprised. everything had gone wrong tonight. yet still, steph had enjoyed it somehow.

"yeah, really. 'cause..." steph trailed off.

"...'cause?" pete prompted curiously.

"nevermind. it's embarrassing."

"come on, that's no fair. I say embarrassing stuff all the time, this is your turn."

steph looked at him, and sighed.

"fine. I had a good time tonight... because I was with you. because no matter what happens, no matter what goes wrong or how bad things get, you're right here for me." she smiled. "you're my home, pete."

[rrayaton]

(black rabbit brotherhood) Youngest x reader headcanons

I'm trying to write for characters that I wouldn't normally write for (before I go into a writing block because we wouldn't want that 😭) Please someone request something before I go back into the shadows lurking instead of posting

It is truly a mystery on how her brother's haven't killed you yet

Honestly, how did you manage to date her without being killed??

Anyways, she'll be all over you. Hugging you, kissing you, dragging you away to dance with you, ect.

You're her new dress up toy, every time you see her, she'll have a new dress, shirt, stalker's outfit for you to try

Now she definitely isn't a gold digger or anything BUT she might expect some sort of gift from time to time. Like jewellery, trinkets, ornaments, a new piece of clothing. Things like that.

She would love to dance with you, all the time. If you can waltz her around the room then she'd be beaming from ear to ear

She has all the nicknames for you: handsome/beautiful, cutie, darling, sweetie, and if you're annoying her, weirdo, idiot, meanie, douchebag

She loves pranking you! Even gets her brothers (especially Eccentric) to help out (also probably payback for dating their sister)

If you were to prank her back though.. oh gosh don't let her brothers find out

She'll do her best to not let her brothers kill you, mainly because she doesn't want to get rid of her lover

Once you get past the hatred that the brothers have against you then you'll fit right in! If the eldest likes you, then the rest will like you. (Or more they'll feel obligated to like you)

If the brothers do see you treating their sister right, then nope! They didn't see it at all. They really can't see anyone being good enough for their sister 😭

If you were to break her heart then you aren't seeing daylight ever again, even if you let her down gently. Her brothers will be out for blood

She'll show you around Malum District and be very proud of it (so you better like it)

You gift her flowers, she'll keep them forever, even when they start to wilt

She is very very clingy, she never wants to leave your side (she will give you space don't worry)

She doesn't want to screw up this relationship, she knows she comes across as possessive and clingy but she is so afraid of losing you, she hopes she can be the best girlfriend you've ever had so you won't ever find someone else

Her love languages are definitely gift giving (receiving), physical touch and quality time

She gives you gifts too! Like a teddy bear that lost an eye or arm, or a matching necklace, a cute little ornament

Your room is now her room, if you have any cute things in your room, they're now hers, that cute little cat ornament you have? That's hers now. And no you can't have it back (unless it's a family heirloom)

If you ever sleep in the same bed then expect to be cuddled till you can't breathe, too bad if you need to go to the toilet, she ain't letting go!

In saying that, at least she doesn't hog the blankets and she has hundreds of blankets so you won't ever get cold. But you will be sleeping with a bunch on plushies that she WON'T let you push off

She will sometimes make a dance with you to show to her brothers, and she will be taking the lead

Her brothers do come off as harsh but they just care about their sister, they don't want to see her getting hurt by an asshole, deep down I have a feeling that they know you'll be an amazing partner for her but they're too stubborn, so it'll take a lot of time to get on their good sides

She loves doing you hair and she loves it when you do her hair. She puts matching bows in both of your hair and shows her brothers

Wherever you sit, she's sits. You sit on a chair? Then she's sitting on your lap, you sit at the table, then she's putting a chair right next to you.

If you guys are cuddled up on the couch then I see her brothers squeezing in between the two of you. You've got Eccentric in the middle of you two, the Eldest by the Youngest and Maniac next to you, most definitely sending daggers your way

Her brothers will crash your dates together. They'll start sitting at your table and order the most EXPENSIVE food in Krat and expect YOU to pay for it all. And will make comments if you even TRY and start talking about the price

One of her brothers: "So you take OUR sister out and can't even AFFORD to PAY for HER MEAL!"

Like it totally wasn't them that made you go broke 🙄

So if you ever strike her fancy then either run far far away or accept it and never let her go. Whatever you choose is up to you

I just find it funny that I had to keep adding her brothers into the mix, I really don't see them being happy if she were to EVER get a partner. They'll have to be up to their standards (which you'll never be able to reach, I'm so sorry.)

There's so much to write for her, I just can't seem to find the right ways to write it well so this is definitely not the end of her. I hope you enjoyed this piece of writing :)

[saturneras]

Private Eyes VIII

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: A good sleepover has never hurt anyone, right?

Note: A little bit of fun for ya'll to get you through the week.

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7

Tag List: @kellyxo1 @alitaar @suzysface @brinapedroswife

A traumatic event can make you do things you normally wouldn't. Like alcohol, it might bring up certain feelings that wouldn't come up on the regular. Pulling up what's been buried deep in your belly under layers and layers of self-deflection. But you know very well while seeing Joel Miller sitting on the couch in front of you that it is only reinforcing whatever possible emotion you've been harbouring in that silly little heart of yours, which now seems to pull so tight on its strings that you're struggling to breathe.

As you pop the first button of your shirt open, Joel grabs the sofa cushion next to him. "Christ," he hisses.

His breathing hitches, as his eyes take in the view.

"Tell me to stop, Joel," you offer, but you can tell from the way his eyes are sticking to your body that he isn't going to take you up on it anytime soon. Lavishly he takes in every inch of skin that you're showing to him. You're desperate and he's enjoying it.

He shifts his seat and you can tell that he's not trying to hide his obvious arousal. You open another button and it feels almost as if you're revealing more than just your skin. From the strain on his arm, it looks like he's about to rip out part of the sofa. From his neck to his stomach, his whole torso is tensing up. He looks like he's in serious pain.

"Fuck," he mouths softly under his breath. His hand moves from the couch to his leg, grabbing his thigh. You know he's really trying. Really wanting to do the right thing. To be good. But you don't want him to be good.

"Come on now, Joel," you say, teasingly. "Don't make me wait."

He closes his eyes and slowly his breathing for a couple of seconds. His chest rising and falling rhythmically. When he opens them up again, his expression has changed. He looks more determined now, as if he had decided on something that he had been unsure about before.

When you're about you open another button, Joel suddenly moves forward. His hands grab your wrist and he pulls you up with him to a standing position. Bodies flush together now. His eyes are locked onto yours, as he exhales. His hips are pressing into yours, showing off.

"That's enough," he says sternly.

Your eyes widen in surprise. "Huh?"

"I said that's enough," he repeats.

You frown. "What's gotten into you all of a sudden?"

"Some sense," he replies, his eyes flicking to your opened shirt for a split second. His heaving chest is pressed against you and connecting to your exposed skin.

"I should take you home," he states.

"Why?"

"Because you're obviously not in your right mind."

"Excuse me?" You reply, "I'm perfectly sane."

"The fact that you were about to take your shirt off, tells me you are not."

You scoff. "You really think that badly of yourself, Miller?"

"Sorry?" His eyebrows drawing into a frown.

"You think it's so outrageous for a woman to want to take her clothes off in front of you that she must be crazy?"

"I think you're not thinking clearly right now and that you should go home," he says.

"Of course and I can feel your rationality through your pants perfectly well right now," you say.

Joel immediately puts some space between you two and narrows his eyes. "I won't start this with you."

"Start what?"

He gives his head a quick shake. "Go home."

"I told you, I don't want to," you snap.

"Not about what you want, but what's best, Darlin'," he drawls.

"Don't patronise me," you say, trying to pull back entirely, but a slight tug on his grip on your arm keeps you close.

Joel groans. "Quit being a brat then."

"I tried to be nice," you hiss, "but you wouldn't let me."

Joel chuckles. "I don't need you being nice."

"How do you need me then?" You ask, flicking your eyes to his lips, slightly parted. Joel's gaze darkens, the familiar soft specks in his eyes quickly turning to solid gold. He swallows hard.

"How 'bout fully dressed and in your own house?"

You sigh heavily. "I'm not ready to have a conversation with my parents right now about why my pants are ripped and I have a suspicious bandage on my leg."

"You really should go," he repeats.

"Please, don't make me," you reply, softly. Almost pleading.

After a couple of seconds that feel like an eternity, Joel nods, reluctantly.

"Fine," he groans, "then let's get you to bed."

Your eyebrows raise up and he huffs, his hand still firmly gripping your wrist.

"To sleep," he explains.

A small smile spreads on your lips.

"Alone," Joel adds and lets go of your arm entirely.

You roll your eyes and take a step back. "Fine."

Joel pulls his hair back and turns to walk out of the living room. You button up your shirt and follow him, as he walks up the stairs. The familiar walk up reminds you of the last time you were here and as you pass the bathroom, you can't help but inhale a sharp breath, thinking of the way his hands felt lifting you up on the sink. But instead of walking further to the guest room, Joel stops right in front of a different door, slightly ajar and pushes it open.

"You can sleep here," he says and makes space for you to step in. It's a cozy room with a navy bedspread, a wooden desk by the window and a leather chair in the corner, buried under some flannel shirts and a washed out pair of jeans. The first thing you notice is not the layout, but the smell. The room smells so intensely of Joel that it takes you a moment to tell your body to easy up. It's so...him. So full of it.

"This is your room," you state, turning to face him. He's leaning against a dark wooden dresser next to the door. His arms crossed in front of his still naked chest.

"Yes, it is," he replies matter of factly.

"Why am I sleeping in your room?"

"The guest room has been taken over by Tommy's stuff, because he's been redoing a couple of his rooms and I don't have any other space. So you'll have to sleep here," he says, "sheets are fresh."

You raise one eyebrow. "I thought you wanted me to sleep alone?"

"You will."

"Where will you sleep then?"

"I'll stay on the couch."

You shake your head. "No way."

"Way," Joel replies.

"I'm not making you sleep on the couch with a gun shot wound, Miller."

He rolls his eyes. "It's just a graze and I'm perfectly fine to sleep on my own couch."

"You won't get any sleep if you do so," you say. "I won't allow it."

Joel chuckles. "This is my house, Darlin'."

"I'm concerned for your well-being," you say.

"That's admirable, thanks. But I ain't getting into a bed with you."

"I don't think any man has ever said that to me before," you say.

Joel shrugs. "First time for everything."

"It's just for one night, Joel," you say, "and it's just sleeping. Nothing out of the ordinary. You do it every night."

"I won't support this need of you to get us into trouble," Joel says.

"You make it sound like I'm suggesting something unholy here."

"The lord is always watching, Sweetheart," Joel says, a slow grin appearing on the corner of his mouth.

"I don't think he minds a little action now and again," you say, walking over towards the bed.

Joel's eyes follow your movements closely as you sit down on the edge of the bed and let your body fall back onto it, glancing up at the ceiling.

A moment later some clothes land on your face.

"You can wear this," Joel says.

You lift your body up and untangle the clothes. It's a dark grey t-shirt and some washed out pyjama pants.

"Thanks," you say.

"If you need anything, just come downstairs."

"Just curious, what do you think would happen?"

"Huh?" Joel's eyebrows lift up.

"Do you think we'd go up in flames in the middle of the night or that a curse is going to be bestowed upon you?"

"I'm not superstitious," Joel rumbles.

"You don't believe in my ancestral ghosts coming to haunt you?"

"I got enough shit in real life to haunt me just fine," Joel says.

"And what would that be?"

Joel doesn't answer and just keeps staring at you on his bed. His jaw muscles clenching.

You sigh. "We can put the pillows in between, like a barrier."

"Come on now, Sweetheart, I'm tired and I can't argue anymore."

"Good," you say, standing up and walking over to him to grab his arm. "Then you should stop being a whiney little idiot and just get it together."

Joel's raspy laugh is soothing as he lets you pull him toward the bed. You pull back the comforter and grab the two large pillows. He sits down in the exact spot you were just in and groans, as he turns to rest his back against the headboard. You place the pillows next to him, forming a barrier in the middle of the bed.

"See? No room for any unholy business," you say and Joel shakes his head.

"I'll go get changed," you say and grab the clothes, before you walk out to the bathroom. You pull off your shirt and what remains of your pants, throwing on the shirt Joel gave you. It smells like fresh detergent and is a little thinned out from numerous wears. It's so warm in the house that you decide to ditch the long pants. The shirt falls to your mid thigh - should be enough decency for now.

After you grab two glasses of water from the kitchen, you head back up to the room. When you push open the door with your shoulder, Joel is still in the same position as before, now wearing a shirt, his lower body covered by the blanket. His head is lowered and he's looking at something on his phone. When you enter the room, he raises his head and his eyes go wide.

"I gave you pants. Where are your pants?" He says, sternly.

You shrug and make your way over to the bed, his eyes are practically glued to the point on your legs, where the shirt meets nothing but skin. "It's too warm for them."

"I don't care, put them on now," he says.

"You won't even see," you say, setting down one glass on the nightstand next to his side. You make your way over to the other side of the bed and set the other glass down.

"I'll know," Joel says, putting his phone next to the glass.

"You can dream about it then," you say.

"I wouldn't dare," Joel replies.

"See? All gone," you say, climbing under the comforter and nestling into the comfortable pillow. "You can breathe now, Miller."

He groans and turns to switch off the lights. There is a sudden silence that engulfs the both of you, as darkness fills the room.

After a couple of minutes you turn your head. "Joel?"

"For god's sake, Darlin'," Joel groans. "What is it?"

You take a breath. "Thank you."

In the darkness you hear his head turn towards you. "For what?"

"For being there, today."

"Just doing my job."

You turn your body toward him and you feel him immediately turn his head away.

"I'm really sorry," you say.

"And about what now?"

"I'm sorry for being such a bitch about coming out on the field."

He exhales heavily. "It's okay. It wasn't your fault."

"I should have listened to you," you say.

"Don't tell me you're developing manners now," Joel says.

"I should have listened to you, Mr. Miller," you repeat.

"Don't fucking call me that, when you're in my sheets," Joel replies, his voice nothing more than a growl.

Another beat of silence fills the air between you two. His and your breath together forming a soothing orchestra of calm.

"I know you feel like you want to be part of the action," Joel starts, "and I'm not trying to actively hold you back from something. I know I can't stop bad things from happening, but I can keep you out of their way."

You pull the blanket tighter around your chest. "I know."

"And I'm sorry about the other night at the dance with that guy. I wasn't trying to play the hero, I just-"

He exhales and you can hear him running a hand over his face.

"I know you don't owe me anything and I wasn't trying to make you feel like you couldn't handle things by yourself. Just- seeing him do that I- I just didn't think and I'm sorry. I overstepped," Joel says, his voice getting softer with every word.

"I'm sorry about what I said after," you whisper. "I didn't really mean it."

"I know," he says, turning away from you.

"I'd never mean that."

"I know, Darlin'. I know," Joel sighs. "Go to sleep now."

You sigh and close your eyes. "Good night."

"Hm," he hums and before you can let the day replay in your head, the exhaustion takes you whole and pulls you into a deep and restful sleep.

It's so hot you think you're going to die. Every part of your body is warm, too warm. It's like there is a hundred tiny suns directly above you, burning up your skin. You try to move, but you're wrapped up under the blanket that feels different than usual. Even the pillow has a different texture-

Your eyes fly open. You're not in your bed. You're in a different bed. The rays of sun are peeking through the curtains onto the floorboards. All at once you remember what happened last night and in whose bed exactly you're lying in. But before you can space out about anything that's happened, you turn your head to look down at the comforter. But the heat doesn't come from the comforter or the extra pillows that you see roughly scrunched up at the foot of the bed.

The chief of police is spread out across the bed and most importantly - across your body. His leg is draped over yours, hips neatly tucked behind you. One hand over your head, the other is wrapped around your naked stomach, your shirt pushed up to your ribs. Bicep tense and palm spread out, almost possessive, almost controlling. The heat of his touch stings you unbearably. But the worst of all isn't that he seems to have ditched his shirt throughout the night and the feel of his naked chest against your back. It's the sense of warmth that his breath creates against your neck, his lips insanely close, almost hovering over the nape of it. Your mind is never going to recover from this. Your body probably isn't either.

You try to turn a little to the side, but his grip on your stomach clenches and without hesitation, you feel his mouth against your skin.

"Not yet, Baby," Joel whispers, his voice dazed. His lips soft and wet against your neck.

"Joel," you whisper.

"Yes," he mumbles, his palm now moving across your skin. Lord have mercy.

This is not good, this is so not good. He must be dreaming, he must be-

"Fuck," a sharp breath escapes you as his fingers trail the underside of your breast. You know you have about two seconds to make a decision whether to jump or not and it takes you about one second to decide. The moment his hand has covered your chest, your back arches involuntarily, aggressively pressing your ass into him.

Joel hums, meeting the pressure of your hips so deliciously you could cry. You can feel him against your ass. His scruff is tickling roughly against your skin, as he draws his mouth down your neck, his thumb grazing your nipple. Your whole body is alert, as if he's just turned on every single cell of your skin. It's intoxicating. And definitely wrong.

"Joel," you try again, firmer this time, but he doesn't reply. He must be asleep still.

You turn your head, finally able to face him and after another moment of haze, his eyes flutter open. They immediately focus on you and a lazy smile appears on his lips. It's glorious. Your daydreams are about to be 10/10.

"Hey," he mumbles.

"Hey," you reply.

His eyes roam around your face and further down. "Are you oka-"

He stills for a moment. Every muscle in his body coming to a halt. A stillness that feels anything but welcoming. You imagine his heart freezing for the blink of an eye. And then he moves, rapidly. Joel yanks his hand away from you, practically jumping out of the bed.

"Fuck, fuck!" He shouts and throws on the shirt that's on the floor next to the bed. Seemingly ignoring the injury on his arm. After a moment he turns toward you. "I am so fucking sorry."

"It's okay," you say, "totally fine."

Joel puts his hands over his face. "Christ, I can't believe I just did that. What the fuck is wrong with me."

"You were sleeping," you say, getting up from the bed. "It's okay."

He looks at you and puts a hand up to stop you.

"Stay there and please put on some fucking pants," he says, breathing heavily, eyes fixed on your legs.

"You need to calm down, Joel," you say, kneeling on the bed.

His hands clench and he clears his throat.

"I shouldn't have done that. I shouldn't have brought you here, I shouldn't have slept in that fucking bed. Jesus Christ."

"It's okay," you repeat, "you were sleeping or dreaming or whatever. It happens. No big deal."

"I touched you without your consent," he states and you laugh.

"Listen, we were both in bed, we were both in between dreaming and waking up. There was some touching. We both liked it and then we woke up. All fine," you say.

Joel frowns. "We both what?"

"Liked it," you repeat.

"You were awake?"

"If you're asking if I was aware that you were touching me, yes."

"Why didn't you stop me?" He says.

"Would you have wanted me to? Or would you rather now know what it feels like?"

Joel's eyes glaze over and he lowers his head slightly. "Don't you fucking start."

"Don't tell me what to do, when you've just had your hand up my shirt."

"It was an accident. I was sleeping or dreaming or whatever you said."

"What was your dream about then?"

Joel groans.

"All good, no hard feelings," you say, as you step out of the bed. "Well, maybe harder for you."

Your eyes wander to his hips, where the wake up apparently hasn't happened yet.

Joel curses and turns around, grabbing some jeans from the dresser and pulling them on.

"You need to leave," Joel hisses, "right now!"

"You're not gonna make me breakfast first?"

Joel spins toward you, hands on his hips. "Get dressed, now."

You slide off the bed. "Yes, sir."

"Maybe I should be dreaming more often if it gets you to listen so nicely."

You grab your clothes. "If you need more material, you know where to find me."

He gives you another stern glance and then he's out of the door and practically running down the stairs. You take your time getting dressed, putting on the pyjama pants he gave you, leaving your ripped pants on his bedroom floor.

When you come down the stairs, the smell of coffee makes its way to you. You step into the kitchen, where Joel is leaning against the counter, the back of his head against the top cupboard, eyes closed.

"Hey," you say, careful not to startle him.

His eyes snap open and he takes you in.

"Ready?"

"Yeah," you say, holding his gaze.

It's a weird situation. You in his kitchen, early in the morning, still wearing his clothes. The smell of coffee and the beaming Texas sun already heating up the room. His hair is combed back like he's run his wet hands through it multiple times.

He pushes himself off the counter and grabs the car keys on the kitchen island. You follow him to the door and are about to say something bratty, when Joel opens the door and stops. You think he's just forgotten something, but realise your mistake, as you come to stand next to him.

On the front steps of Joel's porch are standing Casey, Tommy and two other guys you recognise from the bar. In unison, they all turn around and stare at you and Joel, standing there, in his doorway.

And no matter what you thought about this morning being hot, you know nothing is going to be as scorching as the upcoming hell you're about to be in.

[thatcoolweirdgirlwrites]

Heart To Heart ♡ || S.B

Sirius Black x Fem!reader

part one, part two, part three

Word count: 3.2k

Warnings: Slow Burn, mutual pining, emotional tension, use of Y/N, minor angst, miscommunication

Summary: A tense moment with Sirius Black turns into late-night regrets, an apology letter, and the slow unraveling of something neither of you expected. Slowburn, miscommunication, and a little heart to heart.

A/N: I accidentally deleted my last blog... WHOOPSIE! Thankfully I saved my fics so I'm going to repost them. It's all the same, except for the Warnings, summary, and A/N. Anywayssss... (not proofread)

Thank you for reading, my lovelies!! (Fic below cut)

You weren't really friends with Sirius Black.

Not really.

He was there most of the time — loud, dramatic, and unapologetically himself — when lily would drag you along to Hogsmeade to hang out with her boyfriend, James Potter, and his three friends— one of which was Sirius. So of course sure you've had your fair share of conversation, but nothing to profound. Mostly dry small talk.

You never really knew why she was so persistent with inviting you and neither of your two other friends. Every time you asked she would just tell you the other two weren't as tolerant of the boys even though you know that was a lie.

⸻

Tonight was no different.

It was a Friday, so of course most normal sixth-year students would be going to parties, drinking, snogging and what-not.

But instead, you were sitting in your dorm, papers spread around your bed as you studied for an exam you had that upcoming Monday. It was taking up most of your brain space, so you did not fully register the words lily was saying from over your shoulder until you felt something hit the back of your head.

You whip your head around to find Lily looking straight at you. Your eyes flicker down to find her shoe on the floor then back up to her eyes.

"Yes, Lily?" You say with a rather annoyed, exasperated tone that she did not seem to pick up on, considering her constant chatter.

"Are you even listening to me?" She says with an unimpressed look

"no," You say bluntly. You give a slight shake of your head for affirmation and look back at your book, mumbling, "didn't comprehend a word."

Lily scoffs, rolling her eyes as she stands and crosses the room to plop down beside you, pushing some papers to the side.

Before she could open her mouth to speak you look at her and put a hand up. "No Hogsmeade today. I have to study-"

"You don't have to-"

"I want to. I can't fail this test, Lils, I'm sorry." You say trying your best to sound apologetic, but it sounded a bit too clipped to carry that through.

"Come on, when have you ever failed a test, Y/N?" She sounds absolutely flabbergasted that you would even think that could happens. "You and I are quite literally the smartest girls in our entire year."

You let out a sigh of defeat and close your book.

"You know, you could always tell James that you just want to go with him instead of a group. Then maybe we wouldn't have to do this every weekend."

"You mean me begging you for an hour just for you to eventually give in and go? I think that problem could be solved without me telling James I don't like his friends and breaking his heart." She lets out a small chuckle, rolling onto her back, her arms resting over her stomach.

"You know what, fine. When are we going? Same as last time?" You say, tossing your book to the corner and grabbing your wand.

You sit up abruptly, papers around you crinkling as you collect them and put them neatly away.

Lily nods once and stands up. "mhm, same as last time. I'm off to tell Jamie that you're coming- oh by the way, Sirius will be there tonight." She says with a grin that makes you blink a few times in confusion.

You nod once and watch her walk off. You had not seen Sirius in a minute, because it seems the only time you ever cross paths are when it's planned by your mutual friends, and the past couple of hang outs have been vacant of your presence due to 'studying'— Or at least that's what you told them.

⸻

Later that evening — after taking not even five minutes to get ready — You walk down to the common room, finding Lily, James, Remus, Peter, and Sirius huddled by the couches, looking cozy.

You felt a bit bad being the last one out, making them wait for you, but you shrug off the feeling of guilt weighing on your shoulder and walk over.

"Sorry, didn't mean to keep you lot waiting" you say quietly, watching them all stand up

"It's quite alright, we weren't waiting for long. Sirius took forty minutes to do his hair and you took — what — five?" James says with a grin, looking at Sirius, who grumbled and rolled his eyes, walking to the door of the common room.

You watch him walk away, pulling his leather jacket around himself more. A small smile graced your lips. Not particularly at him, but more the fact that he had taken longer than you just on his hair.

It was the start of winter — so of course, it was blistering outside — and in your rush to not keep them waiting you forgot to grab a jacket.

"Shit-" You mumble to yourself as the snow and cold hits your skin through the long sleeve shirt.

The coverage barely did anything to keep you warm.

You were walking a bit behind the rest, your feet sinking into the snow and your arms wrapped around your body, doing nothing to conceal the shivers that ran through you.

Your eyes were downcast as the chatter of James and Lily laughing a bit too loud at something Peter had said filled the air. How the hell were they always so cheery?

The chattering of your teeth echoed loud, so much so that you didn't realize the figure walking next to you. That was until you felt something get draped over you.

You jumped a bit, the crunch of snow under your nearly soaked converse stopped as you came to a halt. Your head shoots up and your eyes were wide as you see him standing there with a soft smile on his face.

Sirius Black.

He tilted his head a bit and his smile turned into a grin. "What? Something on my face?"

You blink your shock away and start mumbling something, sentences that even you couldn't fully understand. You were completely thrown off by his action and started to take his leather jacket off of yourself to give it back to him.

"I can't- Here, you're going to freeze-"

He shook his head adjusting it on your shoulders and pressing a hand to your back, not forcing you, but lightly urging you to walk forward — as the group had gotten a bit further ahead.

"Don't mention it, love. I'll be fine, cold doesn't bother me" he whispers while looking ahead, his voice uncharacteristically soft, maybe that's why he said it so quietly, but instead of dwelling on it you choose to walk.

His hand never left your back until you got up to the rest.

⸻

The pub smelled of butter beer, wood-polish, and sweat. There were plenty of old drunk wizards all around, but eventually you all found an empty table to sit at.

You choose the seat closest to the wall, feeling like you'd be less of an intrusion on the groups conversation that way. Sirius took the spot next to you, Peter beside him, and the other three across.

You weren't much of a fan of butter beer, so instead you sat there. You listened to the conversation (barely) and your eyes kept darting to the door. You couldn't wait to get back to your dorm.

You had completely forgot you were wearing Sirius' jacket until you heard Remus across from you. "Y/N, Is that Sirius'? When did you get that?"

And just like that all eyes were on you. Your face turned a light shade of red, heat creeping up for neck and to your ears and cheeks.

"Oh- Uhm yes- it's- I wasn't-" You gave up on trying to speak after that embarrassing stumble of words that left your mouth and just blinked and nodded.

Your fingers were messing with the hem of it, the sleeves falling a bit past your fingers. Your eyes were down on your lap as you heard them teasing. Thankfully Sirius noticed your uncomfortable body language.

"Don't be weird, you lot. I just gave it to her because she was shivering. I barely even know her. It means nothing. If I wanted to do anything more I would've done it already."

He says it so confidently that you nod, but then you think for a moment. You look up at him. You were never the confrontational type but the way he said that seemed almost demeaning.

"Would've done it already? And pray tell, Black, what makes you think I'd let you do anything with me?"

You scoff, going from grateful to offended in mere seconds.

He glances at you and looks a bit shocked at your question. "Come on, Y/N, look at me," He gestures to himself, one hand still holding hid butter beer. "You're telling me you wouldn't want one night to have all of this?"

By the way your eyes widened a fraction and the table got quiet he could tell he just said something wrong. Lily in particular knew how you were when it came to men being like that.

"Right, because you're just soooo hot and perfect." You laugh. The sound was not sweet or warm. It was bitter, like what he had said just changed your whole view of him.

"Are you always this arrogant and full of yourself? Sirius, there is not a chance in this world would I want to do anything with you. Ever. I don't know you like that, and merlin knows now that I don't want to. I wouldn't touch you with a ten-foot broomstick."

The table was now dead silent.

Even James — who could talk through all of detention and and then some in one breath — sat there, not saying one word.

You could feel the weight of every gaze around you. Lily’s eyes were wide. Now, with Sirius Black sitting beside you — his leather jacket still warm on your shoulders — you felt too exposed.

Sirius leaned back in his chair, that cocky look was swiped right off his face. His jaw was tight. He looked at you for a long moment. not sharp or defensive. Just watching you, like he was trying to read something off your face, though he's not even sure what invisible words he's searching for.

“…Right,” he said at last. Not playful. Not sarcastic. Just quiet.

He stood up, too sudden.

“Anyone want another drink?” His voice was too light now, forced. “No? Alright then.”

Without waiting for an answer, he turned and walked off toward the bar, the heels of his boots muffled by the pub floor.

You felt your heart stutter in your chest. You didn’t say anything.

Because what were you supposed to say? Sorry your joke flew over my head? Sorry for reacting with the emotions that i felt in the moment?

You sank into the back of your chair, fingers still fidgeting with the cuff of his jacket.

It smelled like him. Smoke and something like pine, musk, and leather. Cologne most likely. You hadn't really smelled it before this moment. You hated that you noticed, because now that you did it was overbearing.

⸻

Sirius didn’t come back for a while. When he did, he didn’t sit. He walked past the table and gave James a look, nodding toward the door.

“Think I’m heading out. It’s late.”

It wasn’t late.

But no one argued.

Instead you all stood and got our things.

The walk back was silent.

No loud talking. No laughter. Just the crunch of boots against packed snow and the way Sirius’ jacket weighed heavier on your shoulders now that you were acutely aware of the feeling on your shoulders.

He didn’t walk with the group. He kept a bit ahead and kept his hands shoved deep in his pockets, shoulders hunched over and a unreadable expression on his sharp-featured face. You hated how your eyes kept drifting toward him.

When you finally made it back to Gryffindor Tower, he didn’t wait at the portrait hole for James to say goodnight to Lily.

You followed a few steps later. You felt your chest tightening. guilt was gnawing at the edge of your thoughts.

You hadn’t meant to be so cruel to him.

You’d meant to stand up for yourself. You always had a hard line for people like him — boys who flirted like it was a game, who thought you were there to fall for them. But for some reason, it hadn’t felt satisfying to put him in his place.

It felt like you’d broken something you didn’t know was there to begin with.

⸻

That night, after everyone trickled back into their dorms in uncomfortable silence, you found James lingering near the stairs to the boys’ dormitory with Lily.

“Sirius already went up,” he said when you stopped in front of him, jacket folded neatly over your arm.

You didn’t look up, just held it out. “Can you give this to him?”

James nodded, something gentle and unreadable in his expression. He didn’t say anything. Just took it from you carefully and disappeared up the stairs.

You follow pursuit in the girls side. Lily followed not too far behind. You ignore the chatter of Marlene and Dorcas as you walk into the room, your mind replaying the words over and over, trying to find some reason for caring so much.

It means nothing.

If I wanted to do anything more, I would’ve done it already.

Would’ve done it already? And pray tell, Black, what makes you think I’d let you do anything with me?

You flopped onto your bed face-first, the mattress creaking beneath you as you groaned into your pillow. What had gotten into you?

You weren’t supposed to care.

Not about bloody Sirius Black.

“She’s sulking,” Marlene’s voice came through the air like a siren, equal parts smug and concerned. “I can feel it.”

“I’m not sulking." you mumbled into the pillow.

Lily sighed, walking over to her bed and fell back onto her own bed, the frame creaking. “You absolutely are."

She turned to look at the other two girls. "She told Sirius off in front of all of the boys. He was being himself and... you know how that goes."

“Leave her alone,” Dorcas said lightly from her spot at the window. “She’s humiliated.”

You groaned. “Why are all of you like this?”

“Because we care,” Marlene sang, throwing herself onto your bed and nearly bouncing you off the mattress. “Also, because you stood up to Sirius Black in front of half of the pub, and I will be talking about it until I die.”

It wasn’t even that big a deal,” you muttered.

Dorcas flopped beside you, tugging the pillow away from your face. “It kind of was. He never gets called out."

"How did the conversation even go?" Marlene asked curiously, and without a second thought you started to explain. All the way from him giving you his jacket to the moment he left.

"Then he left. Said it was 'late'. We all followed."

Marlene laughed. “He acted like you should be grateful for the privilege of being flirted with by him. I would’ve hexed him for that one-liner alone.”

You rolled your eyes. “Okay, thank you, Marls, but this doesn’t actually make me feel better.”

Dorcas gave you a small smile. “You know, he didn’t mean it like that.”

“Oh, so now we’re defending him?” Marlene scoffed.

“No,” Dorcas said firmly. “I’m just saying—he didn’t sound like he was trying to humiliate her. He was trying to cover.”

“…Poorly,” Lily added, nodding. “But yeah. I don’t think he meant to hurt you. I think he’s just an idiot.”

You let out a long breath and turned onto your back, staring up at the canopy of your bed. “Yeah. Well. I don’t know what came over me. I shouldn’t have snapped like that.”

“No,” Dorcas agreed. “But maybe you should apologize.”

Marlene scoffed. “Apologize? For what? Not throwing yourself at him? That man needs to be humbled more often.”

“He already was, Marls,” Lily said with a grin. “Trust me. He’s probably lying in bed right now staring at the ceiling, contemplating his existence.”

You closed your eyes, cringing. “Great. So we’re both having a crisis.”

You sighed loud and dramatically. Why do you feel so bad for him now?

Then Dorcas sat up straighter. “Okay. I’ve got it.”

“Oh no,” Marlene muttered.

Dorcas ignored her. “A letter.”

You cracked an eye open. “A what?”

“A letter,” she repeated. “Nothing dramatic. Just a short apology. Something honest, and non-flirty, and perfectly vague.”

Marlene was already shaking her head. “That’s so boring.” She rolls onto her side with arm propping her head up.

It’s mature,” Dorcas countered. “And it gives her control over the narrative again. You don’t have to grovel. Just acknowledge that it was a weird moment and you didn’t mean to snap. No harm done.”

You blinked at her. “That’s… actually not a terrible idea.”

⸻

It was half-past midnight now.

You were all on the floor, backs against your bed frame, your duvet pooled behind you and a battlefield of crumpled parchment scattered across the rug.

“I can’t believe this is my life,” you muttered, glaring at your latest attempt.

It read:

Sirius,

Sorry for snapping at you. I’m not usually that Aggressive? Defensive? Loud? Whatever.

Didn’t mean to ruin the night. Thanks for the jacket.

– Love, Y/N

You flopped back against the floor with a groan. “He’s going to think I’m obsessed with him!" You whine.

“You are not obsessed with him,” Dorcas said calmly, grabbing a fresh piece of parchment. “You’re just being decent.”

“I called him full of himself and said I’d never touch him with a ten-foot broomstick.”

“Well…” Marlene shrugged. “He was being a prat.”

“That’s not the point.”

“The point,” Lily cut in gently, “is that you want him to know you’re not actually angry. Right?”

You nodded.

“Then just say that. Forget the formal stuff. Just be you.”

You swallow thickly and blink a few times, mulling over your thoughts. Did you really want to be you for Sirius? You didn't even know the boy well-

oh.

Perfect.

You pick up your quill and begin to write:

Sirius,

I think I overreacted.

You made a dumb joke, and I let it get to me in a way that surprised both of us.

I don’t usually snap like that. You didn’t deserve it.

Thank you for the jacket. It was kind of you, even if the delivery afterward needed…work.

We don’t really know each other. But maybe we could.

If you want.

– Y/N

You stared at it for a long moment.

Marlene leaned over and, without asking, drew a tiny heart in the bottom right corner. She didn’t say a word. None of them did.

Then Dorcas took it, read it, nodded once, and folded it carefully.

“I'll go give it to James,” Lily said. “No big moment. No drama. Just…a letter.”

You exhaled slowly.

“Okay.”

As soon as you start to overthink Lily was on the way out to the boys dorms.

"wait- she's going to think I like him! Shit, I shouldn't have said I wanted to get to know him- to desperate. I'm not desperate-"

"It's fine, Y/N" Lily calls before the door shuts completely and you fall back, running your hands over your face.

What did you just get yourself into?

[ladymrf]

a version for the Joker Junior.

…

The scars were what bothered him the most about the aftermath of the kidnapping, he avoided talking about it in the mansion, it made everyone tense and uncomfortable, Dick didn't know either, everything about the Joker made the bats paranoid and melancholic and Tim didn't want that, he already wore the mantle of the dead boy, it wouldn't be nice to remind everyone that he almost died at the hands of the same killer, he wanted to talk about it as something everyday, because the aftereffects were everyday for him, but he doesn't, he uses the skin implants to cover the scars and never mentions anything.

He finds peace with the scars with his team.

The first time they saw the scars no one commented or asked, they shrugged and moved on with their lives, Slobo once said they were the coolest thing on his face and that was it. No one looked away or cringed when they saw his torn lips.

When they were alone in the Tower, after graduation, Tim walked around without his skin patches. He got used to it when YJ used the resort as a base. Cassie, Bart and Kon were used to it and it was good. He could only remove them at Wayne Manor in the privacy of his room at night. If he showed up with the scars for coffee (one that didn't run the risk of Dick showing up) it wouldn't be good for Bruce or Alfred.

The normality with which YJ treated him was undoubtedly one of the main points that helped him look at himself and see Tim and not Junior in the mirror.

Bart usually draws on the white lines. He takes colored markers and draws flower patterns on the lines or anything else he feels like doing. Tim sometimes spent the weekend being the human exhibition of the speedster's art.

Cassie kisses him on the cheeks, always on the lines, she never flinches or grimaces, she doesn't even try to reach the parts of his cheek without the tear, she kisses him on the cheeks whenever she feels like it.

(When they were at the resort, with their team, the girls would spend hours testing makeup to help Tim cover things up without the skin grafts, he ended up becoming an expert in women's makeup because of it, he remembers laughing like an idiot whenever they had these sessions, which was bad because his laugh was horrible as hell and made the girls fall into a collective fit of laughter.)

Kon.

God, Kon.

Kon will kiss him softly on the lips and as he traces the scars on his cheek, he will kiss every place that was burned by the Joker's shocks, he will trace every place he knows Tim was cut and Tim will melt in his hands like an idiot.

"You know we don't care about that right?"

Cassie told him one night when they were holed up on the couch, suffocating in each other's warmth, Bart is drooling on Tim's side, she hugs him on the other side and Kon is in the dream world leaning against the speedster, Cassie whispers as if it were a secret, she gently traces the line on Tim's cheek, covered by fake fur since the beginning of the day, because they were with the original Titans team in the tower and Dick couldn't dream of seeing Tim like that.

"I know, I don't care either, I made peace with these marks a long time ago, but it's not fair to expose people who suffered because of the cause of them." Tim looked at Cassie smiling "It won't do anyone any good if they find out he almost managed to catch another bird."

"I don't see it as his mark, he's famous throughout the country of course, but for us he's just a villain while for Gotham he's the villain, whenever I see these laugh lines I never think of him, only of you and your ugly laugh."

Tim stopped, because damn, thinking about it, when was the last time he looked in the mirror, saw the lines and remembered the torture? Maybe months ago? Every time he saw the lines on his face, it was accompanied by different memories, crooked drawings of Bart, fits of laughter with the girls or kisses from Kon.

Tim smiled, maybe this was the cure they talked about so much.