#yes it is a coincidence but it is a very convenient coincidence so i will take it UwU

[fishandships]

It won’t let me send more than one card to the same character so I looked up the other possible responses and

[ ^ Professor]

[^ Reptilian]

Professor Luchino is RUDE regarding doves but…i would like to personally thank Netease for making it canon that Reptilian Luchino likes doves and i will be headcanoning that the reason is because he associates them with his dove, Rosario UwU

Also omg Luchino you ARE cute and if people cant see that then theyre not your people ;3;

[ozzgin]

Hello again, are requests still open? If they are, can I request headcanons for Izuku, Shoto, and Tamaki with an artist reader? They stumble upon the reader's book full of art. The book also has drawings of them and the reader together.

Yes! I even have your previous ask halfway written in my drafts, which I might just conveniently incorporate it here haha. I'm just very slow to write everything. I do mark the request section as closed when it's the case., so no worries.

BNHA Characters x Artist! Reader Headcanons

Featuring Midoriya Izuku, Todoroki Shoto, Amajiki Tamaki and a reader whose doodles are rather obvious in meaning. More fluff!

Midoriya Izuku

Deku is not really one to pry. So it was absolutely not his intention to snoop. He'd just assumed that your notebook has generic scribbles made of class notes, facts and observations, similar to his. He didn't expect to find intricate sketches, and of such quality too!

Really, he's mesmerized. He has an eye for detail and will carefully scan every line and every brush stroke. Is this a portrait of your teacher? Fantastic angle you've chosen! The crosshatching adds a lot of depth. He slowly flips through the pages, wondering why you've never mentioned your hobby. He's even a little dejected, fearing you might not consider him as close a friend.

Then he reaches the doodles of him and you together. Oh. Ooooh. He has to look away for a moment, trying to contain his blush. Well, it certainly makes sense you'd keep it from him. He'd like to return the sketchbook and pretend he never saw anything, but...As much as he doesn't want to embarrass you, he can't get the idea out of his mind. To think you like him, too...Can he really hide how happy that makes him?

Todoroki Shoto

Opening your personal belongings was completely unintentional. Todoroki had accidentally included one of your notebooks among his own and swiftly left for his dorm room. As he clumsily dumped out the contents of his bag, he finally spotted the foreign item sprawled out on his desk.

Drawings? He can't think of anyone in class to ever mention such interest. Then he remembers he sat next to you, so it must be yours. He blushes slightly at the idea. It would be most terrible of him to snoop further, but he can't help his curiosity. He'd love to know more about you and a perfect opportunity is shining brightly before him. Just a quick peek...nothing more.

To think you were this skilled and he never noticed. He stumbles upon a portrait of himself. Unexpected. When did you even have the time to observe him so carefully? His lips purse in embarrassment. By the time he reaches the lovely couple doodles, his ears are bright red. Was his crush that obvious? He can hardly believe the coincidence of you liking him back and expressing it so clearly. Returning the sketchbook will certainly be interesting. It is the duty of a Prince, after all (If he is to refer to your little sketches).

Amajiki Tamaki

Tamaki has noticed how you often sneak away from the crowds and assumed you, too, are struggling with anxiety and awkwardness. Upon further inspection, however, it seems you just enjoy sketching by yourself. He feels a little ridiculous, hiding behind the wall and spying on an innocent hobby like this.

Then again, why the secrecy? He always thought you're good friends, yet you never mentioned anything about it. Combined with the fact you frequently praise him or gaze at him uncomfortably long...Are you planning on pranking him or something? No, no, that's just his paranoia talking. He reassures himself as he holds the little book you conveniently forgot behind. This is the perfect opportunity to prove to himself he's overthinking as usual.

Seeing the doodles of you and him together turns him into a fumbling, red-faced mess. His hands are trembling. The polite thing to do right now would be to close the notebook and promptly return it. Still, he's stuck in place, staring at the pages. Is this a joke? You can't possibly like him back. Someone like him. As much as he denies it, the longing won't leave his flustered heart. A man can dream...

[eighttens]

Elevatorcrush!Yunho x reader

Synapses: so��� maybe you’re kind of a stalker, but who wouldnt be over a guy like that?!

Note: inspired heavily by Yunho‘s forehead, lord praise the stylists for letting it breathe this comeback!!!! I love it so much he looks too good im not normal about him at all. Hope you enjoy, please dont be a silent reader- share your thoughts and if you have ideas PLEASE REQUEST MY INBOX IS OPEN!!!!

You had a confession to make. You took the elevator in your apartment complex every chance you could get. Not for any medical or physical needs, not because you were too lazy to take the stairs, not because your bag is heavy, no. None of that. It’s all because of him.

The first few times you saw he didn’t really register in your brain. You only took in his towering height and slender form before focusing on whatever else was on your mind again. Probably because the first few times you really were always too tired to climb the seven flights to your floor.

You’ve taken notice of him again and again since then though. He looked to be a few years, three or four at most, older than you, and judging by the briefcase you thought he worked in some higher profession. The business casual style also doesnt stop your fantasizing, quite the opposite actually. You wont lie, you’ve imagined once or twice what he works as; a doctor? A lawyer? Dare you imagine, a professor? The thought alone makes your head swirl, so you’re quick to dismiss it every time.

Since you started paying more attention to the people (person) on the elevator with you, you may or may not have started to synch up your routines with a certain man your eyes find time and time again. You didnt know much about him, other than that he always got on and off the fourth floor, and the times he came and went.

It started with a simple coincidence. You left a few minutes earlier than usual because you had a project at Uni that required a lot of materials, prompting you to take the elevator for convenience. Lo and behold, there he was again, stepping into the elevator as it made a stop on the fourth floor. You nodded at one another, and he sent you a small, seemingly sympathetic smile as he eyed all the materials you were carrying. Since then you knew that he left for work at 7:15 sharp, and since then you’ve subconsciously started your morning 15 minutes earlier too, to match schedules, but he didnt have to know that.

In terms of the time of return, you didnt have to change much (not that you were changing anything in the first place, you told yourself). You simply had to get home a tad bit faster, and then take the elevator. There, you and him would shuffle into the small space and share a moment of silence before he would step off, leaving you to ascend further on your own.

Today was a day like most other, you made it though all your classes managed to hand in the work that was looming over your head, and your timing was right on the money to see a certain someone. You might be a little very exited to see him, you admit, but you allowed yourself the unsolicited giddiness that spread through your body at the thought of him.

Youre glad you were wearing a bit of a nicer outfit that day, because by some high heavens grace, something in his appearance had changed. You felt stalker-ish for noticing the change, but you couldn’t stop yourself from gushing over it. His forehead. Where normally the black bangs would lie against his skin, kissing his eyebrows, his hair was pushed back for a change.

Your reaction was very normal. Yes, you were feeling extremely normal about this change. Nothing like a man from the middle-ages seeing ankles for the first time, no, nothing like that at all.

You stood a little stiff in the elevator next to him, heels pressed against one another to keep you grounded as you practically buzzed where you stood. Oh my gosh girl get a grip! You wanted to curse yourself, but before any of the self deprivation could really start, the silence in the elevator broke.

He cleared his throat, hand coming up to shield his mouth as he coughed into his fist. Your head whipped over to his and you could see him glancing at you from the corner of his eyes. Never in a million years would you have expected to hear a noise from him, but you would have to thank the heavens later for the cold-seasons. You were content now, happy to have heard his voice.

He really threw you for a loop when he spoke again however, leaning down to match your height, probably make you a little more comfortable. „This might be a little out of nowhere, and i hope i dont sounds really weird and creepy but your perfume is really nice.“ his voice was low, as not to disturb the silence in the apartment complex.

Before you have time to soak in his words, even less to think of a response, the elevator has already reached the fourth floor. He‘s swift in his exit, leaving you reaching out for him dumbly, scrambling to think up some words. No success, so you just watch his leaving form with an open mouth.

Once his words sink in though, your face starts warming, your stomach spinning and your knees becoming embarrassingly weak. „Thanks…“ you say to no one in particular as the doors open again: on the seventh floor this time. You float to your apartment, unlocking the door with a wide smile on your face. What was the chance of something like this happening? Slim to none at all, you think as your smile widens again (if that’s even possible).

Was this the start of something? Only time could tell… well, ten hours and nineteen minutes, but you weren’t counting…

[fuctacles]

LATE BLOOMERS

for @steddieholidaydrabbles Spring pop-up | T | 1k | no cw | t4t w transfem Stevie and transmasc Eddie, pre relationship, mutual pining | read on Ao3 | part 2

Eddie hates spring. 

It’s getting warmer and swarms of people are going outside to piss on his good mood. Kids are screaming, parents are showing publicly how terrible they are, the sun is glaring into his eyes, and birds are chirping. Literal hell. His last slivers of peace are the nights and early mornings when everyone is still sleeping.

Except her.

She’s new here, moved in around Thanksgiving last year, and has been running daily ever since. Eddie had noticed her passing his house now and then, her chestnut ponytail swinging with the movement. 

Every morning, in a very un-Munson fashion, he sits on his porch, the cold planks digging into his ass, with a thick sweater, and a coffee warming his body. All so that he can nod at one of the many joggers blemishing the neighborhood.

He always liked drinking his morning coffee in the crisp, chilly air, still foggy and void of people, still in their beds or getting ready for work. She is a great motivator to do it every morning, to wake up to his alarm and start his day early. 

She’s like clockwork, always on time and never out of breath. Barely missed a step the first time he nodded at her in a casual “good morning, neighbor” greeting, and now every time she passes his house she looks to the side, catches his eye, and smiles, raising her hand in a small wave. 

Eddie’s heart swells in his chest and he’s on the verge of weeping into his coffee every time.

It’s all the interaction they’ve had so far, and he’s not even sure what the woman’s last name is, though the rumors he’s heard say it’s Harrington. He likes to imagine she chose this route to see him just like he chooses to wake up early every morning to drink his coffee on the porch, even though no jogging type would go for a metalhead freak like him. He might just be conveniently on the way to her favorite bakery or something. 

He hates spring a little less when it’s warm enough for local joggers to dress down. It gets him swooning over some ankle like an ancient bachelor. A couple of days later the temperatures rise to sports bra levels which he learns the hard way while choking on his coffee.

It’s tight, obviously, but no amount of support can prevent the obvious bounce accompanying the movement of running. He tries his best not to be a creep and greets her with the same smile.

He thinks he’s prepared for the sports bra the next day, but he’s heavily mistaken when the transgender flag rounds the corner. He gets the coffee on his t-shirt this time as he recognizes the top she’s wearing from the same site he used to get binders from. 

She's a little hesitant with her greeting this time, and Eddie can’t stand it. So he opens his stupid mouth and yells:

“Me too!”

She looks at him quizically so he adds, albeit a tad more timid:

“I’m trans.”

And to his absolute horror, she starts walking up to him. 

He’s thinking the worst things: maybe the colors are just a coincidence, maybe she got it because she liked it and has no idea what it means, or maybe he’s about to get shunned by the local community that he already doesn’t feel welcome in.

But then there’s a megawatt smile directed at him and every bad thought evaporates from his brain.

“Really?” she asks, and he can only dumbly nod. 

“Thank god! I worried it would be like, a problem.”

Her hand is out and she’s right in front of him.

“I’m Stephanie,” she says. Her hand is warm against the morning chill. Enveloping and strong.

“Eddie.”

She smiles, warm and teasing, wreaking havoc across Eddie’s internal organs. 

“Is there a chance I’d get a glass of water?”

Eddie straightens up immediately.

“Yes! Of course! Come in, come in!” He opens the door and motions her inside, hoping the filtering jug is full. 

It is, so he pours a glass for the gorgeous creature in his kitchen.

“Thank you,” she says politely and it’s so simple, but Eddie’s melting inside as he watches her swallow the water and lick her bottom lip.

“Hey, listen…”

“Mhm?” he makes a questioning sound, eyes drawn to the way she crosses her arms, making the muscles flex and frame her cleavage.

“Would it be weird if I asked to borrow a sweater? I heavily overestimated the weather today.”

Eddie was nodding before she was even finished, head bopping so hard he was getting dizzy. 

“No! Just give me a moment!” he said before running up the stairs to his bedroom to grab the first clean hoodie he could find. “Here.”

“Thank you.” She smiles and he has the pleasure of watching her put on his clothing. “It’s stupid, but I’ve been dressing up, or dressing down rather, to…” She bites her lip as she zips up the hoodie. There’s a flaking-away Metallica logo across the chest. “There’s this metalhead on my route I wanted to impress, I guess.”

Eddie swallows down the lump in his throat.

“I’m pretty sure you’d impress him in a skiing suit.”

She chuckles. 

“You think so? Maybe I should just suck it up and ask him out then,” she wonders out loud, turning to leave, and Eddie’s stomach sinks. But then she’s turning back and laughing again.

“Eddie! Do you want to go out with me?”

The relief he feels melts his bones. 

“Of course I do! Why do you think I’ve been freezing my ass on the porch every morning?” He goes for the snark because he doesn’t know how to deal with having this beautiful woman’s full attention.

“Breakfast tomorrow? The usual time?” she asks. Because of course, she’d take him on an early morning date.

“Should I buy a tracksuit?” he jokes, but to his horror, her eyes sparkle.

“That would be perfect.”

Stevie event interest check

[iamgonnagetyouback]

could you do frostbite: harry potter prompt 4?

Of course, sweetheart! Thank you so much for requesting <3

ivy's 1k celebration ❄️ navigation ❄️ prompt list

ˋ°•*⁀➷ HARRY POTTER #4: "If you don't stop apologizing, I swear I'll—" "You'll what?" "I'll kiss you, that's what."

It wasn’t that you were avoiding Harry on purpose. Really, you weren’t. It just so happened that every time he turned a corner, you were conveniently not there anymore. Or when he arrived at the library, you had just left with a stack of books precariously balanced in your arms. Or—well, you get the idea.

Harry, however, didn’t.

“Mate, you’ve got to calm down,” Ron said, clapping Harry on the back as he paced in the common room.

“Calm down? CALM DOWN? Ron, she’s avoiding me, and I don’t know why!” Harry exclaimed, running a hand through his perpetually messy hair and making it look even worse.

“You probably did something stupid,” Hermione said matter-of-factly, not even looking up from her Transfiguration homework.

“Yeah, like forgetting her birthday or calling her by the wrong name,” Ron added helpfully.

“I didn’t forget her birthday!” Harry protested. Then, in a lower voice, he muttered, “I wrote it on my hand just in case…”

“See? He’s a lost cause,” Hermione said, sighing. “What about Valentine’s Day? Did you do something wrong then?”

“What could I possibly have done wrong?”

“Well,” Hermione said, finally looking up, “you could’ve gotten her flowers she’s allergic to or bought chocolates she hates or—”

“STOP!” Harry cried, clutching his head as though he were in actual pain. “This isn’t helping!”

But now he was spiraling. What had he done? Did you secretly hate the necklace he got you for Christmas? Were you allergic to flowers? Did you actually like Puddlemere United better than the Holyhead Harpies and he’d completely misjudged your Quidditch loyalties?!

By the time he finally caught up with you in the courtyard, he was a wreck.

“Y/N! Wait!”

You turned, blinking in surprise. “Oh, hi, Harry. What’s up?”

“Don’t ‘hi, Harry’ me,” he said, panting slightly as he jogged over. “Why are you avoiding me? Is it the necklace? Or the chocolates? Oh god, is it because I didn’t cheer loud enough at your last match?”

Your mouth fell open in shock. “What? Harry, no! I’m not avoiding you!”

“Yes, you are!”

“No, I’m not!”

“Yes, you—”

“Harry, I swear, it’s just a coincidence!” you interrupted, stepping closer. “I’ve just been busy, that’s all!”

Harry frowned. “Cause if I have done something, I'm really sorry and—”

“And stop apologizing!” you added, noticing the way he was fumbling for another apology even now.

“But—”

“No buts!” you said firmly. “If you don’t stop apologizing, I swear I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” he muttered, confused.

“I’ll kiss you, that’s what!”

The words tumbled out before you could stop them, and you immediately slapped a hand over your mouth in horror. Harry froze, his eyes wide, and then—

“Well, in that case,” he said, a lopsided grin spreading across his face, “I’m very, very sorry.”

And before you could respond, he stepped forward, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was soft and warm and entirely too good for someone who had just been pacing like a lunatic.

When you pulled back, cheeks burning, Harry grinned even wider. “Does this mean I can apologize more often?”

“Don’t push your luck, Potter.”

[evergreen292]

Hmm, maybe I should elaborate on why I am so furious with the 600 strike and therefore totally disappointed in Epic the Musical.

Okay, there’s no problem with the help from the souls of the crew; let’s collectively forget that they should hate him because he was the reason for their deaths, and that they shouldn’t even be there since they died not near Ithaca, and Hades wasn’t likely giving them a day off from the underworld.

No problem with the wind bag, so conveniently delivered by the trident; okay, just a really wild coincidence.

But here the problems start:

1. Since when does a totally uncontrollable and turbulent storm act like a controllable jetpack?

2. Since when is Odysseus totally capable of not only using this jetbag with ease from the very start but also using it in a damn battle? Is that believable in the slightest?

3. Since this is Poseidon’s storm and Poseidon is fully capable of controlling it (as we see at the end), why didn’t he just turn the storm off a little bit earlier, right inside the jetbag, to get rid of Odysseus without any problem? Because the author says so? That’s just silly.

4. Why doesn’t Poseidon fight back but mostly just float helplessly? Yes, he is supposed to be a worse fighter at close range, but not helpless at close range! Why didn’t he even use his own sea for attack or defense? It’s his domain, after all! I saw an opinion that he was shocked because he felt pain for the first time in his divine life… but that’s just not true. He was eaten by his own father and spent his childhood in his stomach, where there was surely enough pain. Also, gods fought their own wars with titans and giants, so he must have experienced enough pain in battle. He even fought in disguise alongside mortals in the Trojan War. So it can’t be the reason. What is the reason? Masochism? Or does the author simply understand that there’s no way for Odysseus to win if Poseidon fights back or at least protects himself with water?

5. Why does Poseidon just let his trident lie on the ground for Odysseus to pick it up slowly? Poseidon was already pretty well beaten by this mortal, so I just don’t believe he didn’t consider Odysseus a threat at that moment. So… just why? Another author’s decision for the sake of a desirable (but totally illogical) Odysseus victory?

6. Why does Poseidon let himself be stabbed repeatedly by his own trident and not even try to take it back, run, or use water to evade? Is he really this masochistic? Another “because the author wants it so”? And we can see that Poseidon bears serious pain well enough, by the way.

7. Poseidon calling Odysseus a "monster" as an accusation is just hilarious because with all his ruthless philosophy, it should rather be a praise! So we have a clearly out-of-character Poseidon here. Also, I think he would rather die (being immortal, yes) than ask a mortal (!) for mercy! And all the “how would you sleep at night” is just so out of character for Poseidon from all the gods! He is ruthless himself, so… is he sleeping poorly at night all these thousands of years? Really? Does he genuinely consider his ruthless deeds something to regret? Do we have a straight PJO Poseidon here instead of our old epic one?! This line seems just forced for the sake of a “badass” Odysseus's response.

So we already have too many illogical moments that the author uses to get a desirable but totally unbeliveable result. But what about mythological accuracy? In Greek mythology, we have no examples of a god being literally defeated (not tricked or captured) by a mere human. Only wounded—twice—in the Iliad, but in the first case, it was Aphrodite, who is specifically described as weak in wartime. And in the second case with Ares, Athena was there invisibly, literally guiding Diomedes's spear to the weak spot with her own hand. So we can’t even say that it’s mythologically possible for a mere human to defeat a god, especially one whose power is comparable to Zeus.

So… now you can see why I am totally disappointed with the 600 strike.

Thanks for coming to my TED Talk.

[blarshwritezz]

hi if u dont mind i would love a mafia x male spy reader (gn if you ur not comfy with that) so the mafia boss pretends to be the mission partner for the reader just for fun he almist kileed the reader on multiple occasions but the reader misunderstands and thinks that the mafia boss was just helping him albeit in a weird and rather violent way and although reader has a suspicion that his partner (the mafia boss) isnt who he says he is due to skme odd similarities between him and the target of his mission (that being the Mafia boss) and the fact that his partner could easily waltz in notorious criminals manors and party and one day everything just clicks for the reader and they try to escape but the mafia boss knew thus so he kidnapped em and the live happily ever after (idk how to end this so just do what you deem fit ty!!!)

(oh yeah its fine if ur not comfortable or just don't want to make my request im not paying you so you hqbe no obligations to do so remember to take care of yourself <333 /p)

(and if i could could i become 🦀 anon)

Yes! Welcome, 🦀 anon!

Yandere Mafia Boss x Spy Reader

M yan x gn reader (sorry, I prefer to do gn for non-nsfw asks)

TW - general yandere behavior, drugging, implied kidnapping

Your mission was simple, at least on paper. Simply gain intel on a notorious mafia boss. But if it was that easy, you wouldn't have been working at it for so long.

It didn't help that your partner for this mission was...unusual. Not a bad guy, really, just strange. Sometimes you almost thought he was trying to kill you. You'd often catch him staring at you. You even felt his gaze when you swore no one was around.

Not to mention, danger was ever prevalent around him. He always managed to save you, though. But his face did often look rather annoyed...you just assumed he was one of those people with a really bad rbf.

But it was also suspicious how he was able to so easily and casually waltz into the homes or parties of very high-profile people. People you'd never be able to get near without months of careful planning. Maybe he just had good connections?

But all these coincidences were getting a bit too...convenient. If you needed to get in somewhere, he got you in the front gate. If you needed something, he miraculously had it only a day or two after at the latest.

And worst of all, you still haven't managed to track down this damn mafia boss! It didn't help that nobody knew what he looked like.

"Maybe he's right under your nose." His deep voice startled you out of your thoughts. His arm was wrapped around your shoulder, holding you close. Despite his cold exterior, he was pretty touchy and clingy. But...sort of sweet. You were glad to have met him, even if this mission was looking like a bust.

"But where? Where haven't we checked?"

"Well, our organization may be high security, but not impossible to infiltrate for a man like that." Was he implying that one of your own coworkers could be your target? Impossible!

But...now it all seemed to come together. Those coincidences...weren't just coincidences. He really has been right under your nose this whole time.

No wonder he could go wherever he wanted and get anything he desired. He had power and influence...more than you thought.

"I-Impossible! Our organization has the highest security possible! I'd know if someone like that could be...beside me..." It was a sad attempt to cover up your newest theory, but also to try and reassure yourself. If this was true, then you weren't as good of a spy as you thought...

You got up, or tried to at least. He kept his grip tight on you.

He knew.

"I can't just let you go now. You know my identity. So I'll just have to keep you as my newest little toy." In seconds his arm lowered to prevent you from moving your arms as he quickly used his other to cover your mouth and nose with a rag.

Chloroform.

"Just sleep...Be a good pet and I'll be sure to reward you very well..." Despite your struggling, sleep soon took you. No one ever heard from you again...no one but him, of course.

I'm sorry, this one feels so rushed and short, I was having a tough time getting inspired 😭

Forgive me, 🦀 anon, for I have failed

[holmesianlove]

Chapter 2 - Biscuits

John sat with his head in his hands groaning low in his throat as Mrs Hudson prepared some tea. She loved her boys. Sherlock, she’d known for a long time now and had taken on the role of a surrogate mother of sorts. That boy’s parents did not come to London enough to check on their son, and his older brother was far too stifling, in her opinion. Sherlock had never had a chance to just breathe for himself. So Martha Hudson had made it her mission to make his life as comfortable as possible within some very strict constraints. She was not the landlady. But she also cared for him deeply.

The day John Watson entered the scene, everything changed for the better. Sherlock’s entire demeanour was different now. The minute she saw them together, she had assumed romance because Sherlock had never seemed to light, so inspired as he did with this boy in the room. She still had hope. One day they’d sort themselves out.

“You know, John,” she began carefully, “Sherlock can be an acquired taste.”

John huffed loudly, lifting his face long enough to give her a dark expression before returning back to his posture of despair.

“Sherlock loves his experiments…”

“I’m green, Mrs Hudson. Green,” he moaned back looking up at her.

“I think it’s a great compliment that he feels comfortable enough with you to try these things. Don’t you?” she tried enthusiastically, placing a cup of tea in front of him and then bring over a plate of biscuits and cupcakes to set on the table, which had, unfortunately been iced with a lovely matching shade of green.

John looked at her horrified.

“Merely an unfortunate coincidence,” she sighed. “Sorry.”

He grumbled something to himself and took a sip of the tea. The two of them sat in silence for a decent length of time but somehow it didn’t feel uncomfortable. “You think this is a sign of friendship?” he finally asked.

Mrs Hudson shrugged and sipped her tea.

“I think it’s convenience. Before me he had no-one to experiment on and now here I am. A live bloody subject,” he grumbled.

“John,” Mrs Hudson said, scolding him. “You’re so much more than that to Sherlock and you know it.”

“I was supposed to have a date!” John cried out.

Mrs Hudson couldn’t help chuckling.

“He always, always ruins my dates.”

“Let’s be honest dear, you don’t enjoy them. You’ve told me that many a time,” she reminded him with a stern look.

John simply sighed. And the silence returned.

“Well,” Mrs Hudson said with a huff. “I know it, even if you don’t. You’re the best thing to happen to that boy. He certainly knows it. And while I can appreciated that being green is not conducive to dating…”

John gave her a look.

“I can’t argue with you there,” she conceded. “But I will tell you this: Sherlock Holmes comes from a wealthy family who own property all over the country.”

John frowned not understanding where that was going.

“The poor boy was being suffocated by his parents and his brother watching over his every move, ever since… well you know about the drugs, at least in theory. I have known him a long time and I offered him the flat. I owe him a favour or two myself,” she said with a stiff smile.

“Your husband,” John said with a nod of understanding. “So?”

“Sherlock doesn’t need a flatmate, John. He has money,” she continued. “He had already been living here on his own for a while before you.”

“He told me he’d just moved in,” John said, sitting straighter, his voice rising slightly, ready for a battle, despite it being with the wrong person.”

“Exactly.”

“You’re saying he allowed me to move in so he had someone to experiment on and I’m paying for the privilege?” he moaned.

She chuckled quietly. “No, John. I’m saying he usually prefers to live alone and doesn’t like people but he offered you the room, after a very short conversation, from what I understand.”

John’s shoulders relaxed. “A very strange and short conversation, yes.”

“And you took it with no argument,” she reminded him.

“Yes, that’s true. I… well I had nothing much else to lose.”

“Indeed,” she said, passing him a cupcake which he took. He started playing with the wrapper, unfolding it as he thought.

When he didn’t say anything she spoke again. “You needed each other, I think,” she said quietly.

“Why does he have to make things so difficult?” John moaned, biting into the cupcake. He looked up at Mrs Hudson with a clear appreciation for her baking and returned to eating it.

“The minute I saw you both together, I knew that you had saved each other’s lives,” she finally admitted.

John would have argued but he had a mouth full of cake so he worked on that as he thought and at least from his point of view she was absolutely right.

Mrs Hudson picked up her tea cup and paused. “Is it true that Mycroft whisked you off and made threats?” She had heard this from Sherlock at some point and always wanted to ask.

John looked at her in surprise. “It most certainly is. He has a lot to answer for,” John scoffed. “But he doesn’t scare me.”

“And that’s why Sherlock trusts you. He knows. You’re his protector now. His family are far quieter because they know you’re here and they trust you too.”

“No.” John frowned. “I doubt that.”

“It’s true, John. You have changed Sherlock. And that sweet boy may struggle to tell you so, but you mean a great deal to him.” She reached out and patted John’s hand that was resting on the table. “He’s like a school boy playing pranks on a crush.”

John spat out the mouthful of tea he had taken in and Mrs Hudson sat back in shock, pulling her hand away and sitting up straighter. “John Hamish Watson!” she scolded.

“I… wait, how do you know my middle name?!” he squeaked.

“Sherlock may be an idiot when it comes to you, but I assure you I am not. My husband worked with the cartel. I have ways,” she sighed, getting up to fetch a cloth.

John sat staring into space. What in God’s name was she even talking about?

“It’s not a crush Mrs Hudson,” John finally said.

“No. You’re right about that,” she agreed as she wiped the table.

John relaxed visibly and sat back in his chair.

“It was merely an analogy,” she said gently.

“Well good. I thought I’d cleared it up with you that first day. We’re not a couple. I’m not gay, and Sherlock Holmes does not have a crush on me that induces him to experiment on me… to stop my dates.” As he finished the thought he hesitated. He hoped that wasn’t the purpose of this in any case.

“You’re absolutely right. He doesn’t have a crush. Sherlock Holmes loves you with his whole being,” Mrs Hudson said, levelling a very firm look at John.

John froze in her gaze, swallowing hard. If he’d been a normal colour it would have drained from his face. And thank goodness he was green so she couldn’t see the blush that then rose on his cheeks, though he knew full well that Martha Hudson could see past the green. She knew everything.

They remained frozen like that for what felt like an uncomfortable age as John processed her words. He felt his entire body respond to them.

“John!” Sherlock called out from the doorway.

John twisted around to see Sherlock standing there, relieved at the interruption but then terrified at the thought he might have heard the conversation.

“How long have you…?”

“John, we have to go!” he rushed on excitedly. “There’s no time for cups of tea!”

“Sherlock Holmes!” Mrs Hudson scolded.

Sherlock’s shoulders dropped and he walked around the table to where she was standing and placed a kiss on her cheek.

“Better,” she said. “Honestly your manners sometimes.” She rolled her eyes.

“John. Come on! Get up. There’s a case.” He reached over and grabbed a biscuit, taking a bite and flashing Mrs Hudson a wink before rushing back out.

John sat for a moment. He had far bigger problems now. He leapt up, ran over to her and gave her a kiss too. “Thank you for the tea!” he cried out, as he chased after Sherlock Holmes.

The colour of his skin had been long forgotten. The game was on!

——

@notjustamumj @lisbeth-kk @helloliriels @totallysilvergirl @221beloved @safedistancefrombeingsmart @givemesherbet-blog-blog @naefelldaurk

@phoenix27884

[goldenhickeysandramen]

Serendipity

Serendipity is the occurrence of an unexpected and fortunate discovery that happens when you are looking for something else. It is the "happy or beautiful coincidence".

One of the most important serendipities in history is the discovery of penicillin, that happened when Fleming went on holiday and left behind a bacterial culture plate on which a fungus happened to be growing.

In the context of love, serendipity often manifests itself as meeting someone special in the most unexpected circumstances or finding love in someone unexpected. Perhaps you were expecting another thing to happen (like a strong friendship to grow?😏), but something else BEAUTIFUL occurred.

Jimin's Serendipity song is about a love that is born out of the unexpected and is so surprising that it is frightening.

It is very interesting to see that the song uses the concepts of destiny and serendipity (you are my penicillin), which are apparently opposed.

What we call "destiny" is a philosophical and existential concept that alludes to the belief that everything that happens in life happens inexorably and according to some kind of "plan". To believe in destiny is to believe that everything happening has some predetermined meaning and coherence, and that there is therefore little point in resisting it ("It was fate that led to this... that we crossed paths..., that we came this far... "🥰).

From the perspective of serendipity, what there is the happiness of having met in the midst of chaos, where it was highly unlikely that we would meet or spend enough time together to build a love story. There is no destiny, only the most beautiful coincidence.

I find interesting how the song mixed both philosophies. The lyrics talking about destiny, and what happened ...that must be "the providence of the universe"...

.. there’s a kind of “acceptance” that "It just had to be"... maybe because despite initial caution or opposition, there existed no alternative path for the souls involved but to inevitably fall in love.

Funny thing is to see that - as far as we know - these are the two visions that JK and Jimin have of their own lives ☺️ (One firmly believing in destiny and the other in building his own paths).

And you will say .... It's Namjoom who wrote the lyrics.

Yes, I know.

BUT....I really think that Jimin gave him certain hints of what he wanted to say, or alternatively… Namjoon already knew. Because this song is so Jikook coded.. Jimin (and Jungkook too) giving us some hints during years.

The first one was in Run episode 61 (which was recorded in summer 2018). BTS split into teams to compete for snacks and in the game Jimin and JK got the same score: 738.

https://x.com/bangtannuggets/status/1361299753900867585?s=46&t=vgk32mOt764yK5fakoQqow

Jungkook asked "Destiny?" (see where JK is going? 😊)

And Jimin replied "I told you, you are me, I am you".

When did he tell him?

Did we miss something?

Do you mean he told him so in the song?

Or did he tell him before, in 2016, when Zico released a song with that name (I am you, you are me) about love and destiny that Jungkook and him decided to pay homage to on a fansign?

At the beginning of 2016 Zico released the song 지코(ZICO) - 너는 나 나는 너 (I am you, you are me)

In his MV Zico appears visiting a convenience store, where the girl working there always happens to match clothes (LOL) with him. And in one of the last scenes, the two appear with a similar wound on their finger, and with matching band-aids.

And the lyrics...

If both hearts feel the same, they're ONE..

So.. I am you, you are me

In Puma's April 2016 fansign, Jimin and JK appeared with matching Pororo’s bandaids on their fingers. And although some fans asked if they were injured, neither answered in that way. Jimin even admitted that he wore the bandaid because "the lil one" gave it to him.

The next time the two said the line to each other was on BTS Love Yourself Japan Dome Tour Documentary & Interview 2018 on TBS.....

https://x.com/gcfKM57/status/1499717697914900481

Then Jungkook gave the only explanation we have so far... that Jimin was messing with his song the whole time....(???)

Jungkook made the finger gesture and Jimin finished the verse for him.

(I wonder if the finger gesture came about while Jimin was doing the choreo, as he has many moments where his finger stands alone... I'm already envisioning the scene where JK possibly walked over and...🥰🥰🥰🤡🤡🤡🤡)

That moment in the interview speaks for itself... but as usual, the members’ reaction reveal even more, if that's possible...😂😂

So….long story short….how much of a coincidence is there when...

1. Jimin said that he would give a song (as a gift) to the person he loves in the future…? (Jungkook being very “curious” about the answer 😉)

2. He doesn't let Jungkook visit him in the MV recording ... only to see later in the MV certain sus date 😶..?

3. He includes as part of his song the title from a love song that he and JK paid homage to a year ago…?

4. Jimin told Jungkook that line and makes it "the line" between them for years…?

5. Jungkook not only accepted it, but still sings and hums the song years later, as the precious gift it is…. ?

https://x.com/lovemazejikook/status/1451536877211684864?s=46&t=vgk32mOt764yK5fakoQqow

..... ????? (closing question)

You know the answer.

Jimin told us

There is no "for army" involved here.

No fan song to allude to this time.

2017 was a year of declarations of LOVE from both of them.

Each of them chose their own artistic expression.💛💜

[mitraoki]

Hi hi! I'd like to rq a Ken Sato x Gundam pilot (pilot of a giant war robot, similar to a transformer) reader, fem or gen if possible!

She's slightly older and used to work with the KDF but quit due to realising the problems KDF has caused.

OR! She could have worked for the Japanese army but due to a horrible accident during a mission she could've been injured badly and was forced to retire early.

Possibly low-key sassy and stoic personality that she acquired after years of working for the army, that undermine her politeness and sweet personality.

And if possible, can she wear an eye patch?

If you don't like this feel free to ignore :( But I really like this concept and your writing style so it'd be really nice to see it written out :)

Don't tire yourself out!

😧🪒😦 - Anon

hot and cold. (ken sato x gn! reader)

note; HELLO anon!! thank you soo much for requesting. this is a REALLY good background you've given me, i just hope i've done it enough justice for you🥹🥹please let me know of your thoughts about this! i always welcome feedback <33

as usual, requests are open!! refer to my rules for a better view on what i write (✿◕‿◕✿)

masterlist.

i would say that after ken's experiences with emi and bonding with his dad, he becomes more open to various possibilities. yes he's happy he's slowly recovering what he'd lost long ago, but there's definitely something in particular that's missing in his life.

he hasn't thought about love in a long, long time. back in america it was always crushes, or simple dates but nothing ever lasted longer than he wanted it to. ken sato hates cliffhangers.

you, on the other hand, weren't hoping for much. all your life you've worked - very obviously - as a tool for the KDF, but what good did it bring you except to push yourself away from people?? so you did, not wanting to be around people quite often, so much as to even isolating yourself.

after learning of your boss' potential demise, what good is there staying in an organization that left you completely shallow? gone was the need to remain in KDF, signing the very last paper regarding your resignation.

"i should get an eye patch," you muttered, staring into the mirror with a dull look. it was no news for the frontliners to experience heavy injuries, but you definitely did not expect one of your eyes to become completely dysfunctional.

it had only been a few days since your departure from the shackles when you just had to bump into the well-known, ecstatic baseball player, ken sato in a convenience store. purely out of coincidence, of course. squinting your eyes, you sent a nod his way.

"heard of you," you uttered, stretching your lips into a thin line as you headed towards the counter, paying for the stuff you'd picked out for dinner later.

....leaving the man himself completely speechless.

who were you? why didn't you say anything else about his plays? have you attended any of them? were you pissed that he wasn't playing to his full potential? and what was with the eye patch?

he needed to know more of you.

i'd like to think he'd ask more about you from mina, gaining as much information as he could about you. if you had any specific history, some kind of secret that he was yet to uncover. lo and behold, he dug far enough to find out you once worked with his enemy. emphasis on worked.

a shiver ran down his spine when he read those words. he didn't need to see it, but he could tell there was more to than what meets the eye.

"something the matter, ken?" mina questioned, her holographic screen dissipating.

"oh- how difficult do you think this is gonna be?"

"....i cannot give you a definitive answer, ken. i would depend on the way you'd choose to approach her."

and approached you he did. not exactly, but again. it was purely out of coincidence when he saw you sitting by the window of a quaint cafe, sipping on your favorite beverage.

"baseball boy?" you called out behind him while he was "trying his best to order his favorite drink." his words, not yours.

"fancy seeing you 'round here."

"yeah! well. you know me - super down to earth," he chuckled nervously, clearing his throat after.

but you can see just how bad he was suppressing himself from throwing the biggest questions he had for you. out of respect, you had hoped. nodding, you walked back to your seat after grabbing your long-awaited dessert.

that was - until - the same baseball boy practically begged to sit at the same table as you. there it was. one would expect the fan to do most of the questioning towards their idol, but in this case it was different.

you were no fan, and ken surely wasn't one himself. the KDF doesn't really have a good image going on, after all. it was the slight glimmer of hope in your heart that this man had a pure heart, just wanting to explore what he hasn't in this big, cruel world.

heaving a huge sigh, you gave in. this can go on. what's the worst that could happen?

and it did. for hours. hours turning into days. days turning into weeks. months. suddenly a year had passed, and you were now in his arms, being the little spoon you had desired for so long.

he hears story after story of yours. all the secret missions you'd gone through before resigning. the eye that you'd lost a long time ago.

ken sato was careful with your heart, soul and you. he cares for you like the world's most fragile glass, holds you in his arms like he might lose you the moment he lets go. he kisses every single scar of yours like he was silently acknowledging the sacrifices you'd made through the years.

and for the first time, you felt like there was some meaning. you needed to see this through. you wanted ken sato more than ever now. the way he smiles, the way his eyes glimmer when you tell him something new. the way he cups your face and reminds you of your worth.

it's mind boggling to know someone slightly younger than you has such a vast and mature mind, ready to accept you when no one else has. life had always been stagnant. you wake up, you face the days ahead. some conversations with or without you. unwanted noises that bothered you to the core.

it was just something about ken, his voice perhaps. or it could be the way he wants to listen. he chooses to listen even when he doesn't understand, because this man would do anything in the world to be in yours.

"i don't know what the others have told you, y/n. but in my eyes, i can keep them on you forever and i'd never grow tired."

and those were the words that left you speechless, the fresh warm streak of tears flowing down your cheeks. it was such a rare sight to see someone so stoic, so persistent break down. but even then, ken sato was there to hold you tight, whisper soothing words into your ear and pepper you with endless kisses.

you'd grown absolutely smitten for this man, and i would say you'd never regret a single moment with him.

all created content belongs to mitraoki. reposts/remakes are not allowed.

[cherubispunk]

BARK! BITE! BLEED! (PART I) - FWB!Frankie Morales x AFAB!Reader

summary: being without is always easier when you don't know what it is to be 'with'.

a note from Lucy: heyyyy! hows it going? yes...im back with another series. Those of you waiting for cherub, its coming. I promise. hand over my heart and the other on the bible. but words have a funny habit of not wording so...tale please take the humble peace offering of slutty fwb!frankie and please dont bite my fingers off.

playlist | moodboard

wc: 5742 Warnings: 18+ MDNI! no use of y/n, slight noncon voyeurism, thin appartment walls, mentions of cheating, obsessive behaviour, frankie is obsessed and it is very unhealthy, toxic relationships, heavy religious imagry (come on, is this even a surpise when it comes to my writing?), age gap but not bombastic sorry chloe (reader is 21, Frankie is 27) - though not mentioned in this part, graphic smut, could be considered dubcon, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v sex (do i need to spell it out to you not to do this?), creampie, biting, its not vore!!!! but there is something inherrently sexual in the themes of metaphorical consumption, softdom!frankie, scratching, gore imagry in the sense of a hunter prey type of thing? More of lu being dell, batshit insane, blurting words onto a google doc and praying ot makes ense when being blasted out into the void.

series m.list | m.list

“At the end of the day, a dog that’s all bark and no bite is merely a bitch. True power lies in those who don't just bare their teeth, but make you bleed when they sink in.”

Frankie was a quiet man. He would always keep to himself. Never usually stuck his nose in anyone's business unless it was for their own good. Stayed in the four walls of his own apartment he rented close to the barracks. He’d made one friend in the entire complex. You. His next-door neighbour. The only thing he knew before prying was your last name on the buzzer out front. From there it was waiting. And watching. Frankie had an obsession with observing you from his kitchen window every time you came home from work at the bar. Stood in the shroud of shadow and sheer curtain. He dug his claws in and clung to each passing conversation in the hallway, or the laundromat down the street whenever coincidence let you pop up there too. Stored each part of you that you trusted him with in his mind for safekeeping. Often caught himself staring at a particular pair of red lace panties whenever you did your laundry. 

There was one small, tiny little problem in all of this, however. Lisa. He supposed he should thank her really, because without her, he would have never moved out of the barracks in the hope of starting a life for them. He would have never met you. It was convenient, reasonably priced and he could excuse poor plumbing and heating for the fact it was close enough to his work that he didn't have to wake up any earlier than 5:30. But Lisa…oh, Lisa was Machiavelian. A conniving woman, with her heart set in thick ice, and a cold, unforgiving grip over what was hers. It made him wonder what he saw in her in the first place. Maybe he was blinded to everything but the curve of her face, or the pout of her mouth and the pant of his name as it passed her parted lips. Or there was some morbid fascination he had with her teeth as they bared to his skin and bit down. Tearing him to shreds. Either way, there was something to live for when being ripped apart by her. Something to distract from the sounds of pleasure that seeped through paper thin walls at night. Your pleasure. At the hands of a man he felt nothing compared to and knew nothing about. So he’d roll over and fuck out his frustration on the woman he hated but chose to stay with until she left him for another.  

Another day, another ache. Another pain cramping in his lower back as Frankie inched closer to thirty and still no happier. Twenty-seven, a stable-ish job…and what else in life to show for it? He was bitter. In no place to want the company of another unless only for the night. Except tonight he was alone again, pressing his key into the lock, twisting it open, closing the door behind him. And then waiting…listening. Anticipating the drag of his hand south over the plane of his abdomen to under his boxers where he’d tease himself to the sound of you with another man. The pretty whimpers you’d let slip under the weight of another man's skin and bone, and the pleasure flooding the gaps of your synapses. 

Only this time there were no cries for more. No whimpers, or moans. No. These sounds were shouts. And anger ignited you as you rampaged through your apartment on the other side of the wall, getting dressed as Mark, the man you’d wasted months on, chased after you in pursuit of your forgiveness. 

“Who do you think I am?’ Frankie heard through the wall, pressing his ear to cold plaster with bated breath. Your voice was shrill, seething with the intent to carve into Mark’s skin with an onslaught of verbal mutilation. Have the words mark him with bleeding, weeping shame. “No, really? You think I’d never figure it out, Mark? Am I naïve to you?” 

He slipped out of bed with careful stealth: Followed the sound of your voice through the wall, walking with his ear pressed to it before the sound of your front door opening made him jump, stepping back for a second. He blinked, once, twice…then raised his hands to plaster again and leaned closer, ears straining to hear what was now distance shrieking from the hallway outside. Which he followed to his front door. Listening intently behind the wood.

As he held his breath until his lungs burned in his chest, something flared up in Frankie. A desperate, wanting, starving need to swoop in. Be your knight in shining armour. The words were stuck in his throat, and if he wasn’t careful, they would choke him blue. But if he knew even a shred about you, it was that you’d hate that just as much as whatever it was Mark had done to you to have you tossing him out in the early evening. You were a private person. A woman who never appreciated prying ears or eyes. You avoided all his questions about your past whenever he asked. Swerved him off topic and into the hedgerow before he had a chance to blink and realise he had the backhand of whiplash. And if he let it slip once that the walls were thin, there was no telling where your quick mind would jump to next. Frankie never knew why or what made you so guarded. But he imagined one day you bit the hand of god and he stopped feeding you. 

Frankie’s heart was thumping to the beat of his anxiety in his throat, making it harder to swallow the lump it formed, clammy palms pressed to the cool wood with the rest of him. 

“You’re a sick man!” He heard, followed by a thumping of something being thrown, then a yelp out of Mark as Frankie guessed he was dodging whatever it was you threw his way. Shoes, maybe? Something else? “A coward! So get out. Don't call. Don’t come knocking. And tell your fucking wife!” 

A shuffling of ashamed feet. A slam of your front door. Clattering around behind shared walls. Then silence. 

It was five minutes of silence. But it felt like the seconds within those intervals were put on the rack and stretched in torture. Five minutes that he should have used to step back from his door but didn't. He just prayed there was more of you to have to himself for a second. 

Then the descent of knuckles came beating down on his door. Causing his heart to jolt out in his chest then plummet into his stomach. Twisting his insides into knots that made him sick with intrigue. He took a step back. And a breath. Then waited a second before opening the door to find you stood there in a silly little lace hemmed tank top and sleep shorts. Your hair dishevelled and cheeks flushed. He opened his mouth to speak, but found the words stuck to the backs of his teeth and the roof of his mouth like soggy, claggy toffee. So he shut up, grateful you cut him off first. 

“We’re having a bonfire. So whatever shit Lisa left here, bring it with you. My door will be open. I’ll be on my balcony.” And you left him with nothing but that. Stomping back down the hall in a flurry of your anger. 

Frankie stood there, feet practically glued to the floor, fingers curling in on his palms as his blunt nails pressed into already calloused flesh. And an image of you, teeth bared to him like Lisa’s once were, appeared in his mind. An apparition of hurt, torment and his own vulnerability. But it was too late. His feet moved before his mind could and he was already collecting the things of his ex-girlfriend who had wronged him time and time again, stuffing them into his arms in a bundle of broken memory, anguish and lingering hurt. 

He found you standing by a metal bin of a man's belongings. The odd t-shirt, pictures of your face next to his, smiles happy and bright with the joy of a relationship you never expected to cave in. In your hand was a packet of cigarettes you'd told him in the passing of a hallway’s conversation that you’d quit, but evidently not. And a crumpled, misshapen box of matches. In the other was a bottle of Whiskey. The brand Mark insisted on liking and you’d bought him for a birthday present. A present he’d never receive because he was as dead to you as the day was long. 

“I thought you quit.” He said, trying to start a conversation that hit a dead end pitifully quickly. 

“Toss it on.” You mumbled dismissively with a jerk of your head to the pile, eyes glued to Mark’s belongings, washing down your bitter words with an even more bitter swig of drink. 

Frankie complied wordlessly from there, dumping the contents of his arms on top of the photos and clothes, stepping back while you poured a generous amount of the liquor on top. A seasoning of fuck you not farewell to the people you’d shared your life with and would thankfully never cross paths with again. He took the bottle from you when you pressed it into his chest, taking a drink and grimacing at the taste. It wasn't smooth. It was almost sour, with a kickback that burned too much to be pleasurable as it passed down the column of his throat in a thick swallow. His thoughts trickled in from there as he read the label and glanced at you. He wanted to get you drunk. Get you to slip up. Let yourself be taken for once.

You both watched, deadfaced, as you struck a match, used it to light a cigarette and then tossed it in the bin as memories curled up under heat. The alcohol setting the blaze up in a satisfying roar of good riddance. 

He thought it was a little strange. How you’d come to him. Yes, you were friends. But the type of friend that only ever conversed between life events. In the empty limbo of hallways and laundromats. Not burning things on your balcony in the hope the heat will melt your heart back together, It was a little late for that. Stone doesn’t melt. And the two of you had hearts of set concrete from the turn of events you’d experienced. Encased in the cage of bone that would no longer open to another unless broken in two and forced apart. So you slid down the brick wall, knees bent to your chest while you smoked. The flame flickering a violent xanthous, ochre and scarlet. 

He joined you on the floor, passing back the bottle. The two of you side by side, and it only just occurred to Frankie how lonely he was now. But how terrified of intimacy he was. Intimacy of a level deeper than skin/ The both of you wordless, silent as the decaying dead of night. Only the crackle of fire between you and a sniff for your nose as the evening air nipped it and made it run. So to distract yourself, you condemned your tongue to bad liquor, chasing it with a drag of your cigarette and a grimace,

“God, this is shit.” You scoffed. 

“Not a hard liquor gal?” He chuckled, turning his head to glance at you out the corner of his eyes before the flame had his eyes attention again. 

“More of a wine person, really. But even I can tell this is shit.” And you gestured to the bottle in your hand, reading over the label and sighing. 

“Yeah,” he sighed, inflicting another taste upon himself when he took it out of your grasp. “It is.”

Silence again. Not awkward for you who preferred your own company to others, but for him, who had been watching you begging for an in, it was clawing at his insides like a starved animal would at the walls of its enclosure. 

“So…” He drew out, and you had to bite back an amused smile. 

“What?” 

Frankie found himself staring in trance at your side profile, with the same fascination you honed in on the flickering flame. He thought in silence for a second. Asking himself the same question. 

"How long did you date Mark for?" He asked. The name made him grimace as if it tasted sour in his mouth. Like he had to spit it out with disgust in every syllable for fear of it burning.

"Six months." Another awkward, off beat pause followed as he nodded. Then asked again. 

“Did you love him?”

"No." You said flat out. But your words were honest and brutal to the man you let in then kicked out. 

Frankie found himself suffocating a sigh of relief in his own ribs. They pinched slightly with an attempt of something profound to be felt. Like a child who had stumbled upon a strangely twisted shell at the beach. "Have you ever loved anyone?"

You turned to him, tilting your head. But Frankie couldn't tell if it was annoyance or respect for the bravery he had on asking you such personal questions. "What is this? Keeping Up With The Kardashians?"He held up his hands in quick defence, backing down. 

“I’m just trying to get to know you.”

"There isn't anything to know except for the fact I'm pissed off." You muttered. “And I figured you would be too, considering the argument I heard a couple nights ago through the wall of my kitchen."

Frankie felt his face go pale, then heat up in the apples of his cheeks. "Oh. So you heard that?" The way your cigarette smouldered as you spoke was the only movement on the narrow balcony. So you did know the walls were thin. It made him wonder what else you knew. If you knew how he strained to listen through plaster and drywall each night. 

"Oh, I heard it alright.” You smirked, finding sick pleasure in the way he seemed to squirm. “Something about Lisa finding you...'dull behind the eyes'." Frankie watched as you rolled your eyes and doubled back on your standing in the argument, "If you're going to insult someone, at least be creative about it. ``Give them a good reason to cut it loose." You were like a pendulum to him. But one that spun in clockwise, then anticlockwise circles, instead of oscillating back and forth. Unpredictable in a way that both horrified and intrigued him. 

"Dull?" He had to laugh in disbelief, "I am not dull."

You smiled to yourself at that, leaning your head back against the brickwork. Ready to shatter his lie with a flick of your sharp tongue. "You are dull, Frankie. You get up. Go to work. Come back. You do your laundry every Sunday— and I know that because so do I. Your car is always in the exact same spot next to mine. Without fail. Now, you can put all down to ‘strict military regime’, but the bitter truth is," You looked him in the eye, your cig hanging from your lips as you showed him the satisfied grin pulling at your mouth, "you are dull. We all are. We work, we grind, we cry because we work. You ache to the marrow and you get stabbed in the back. And you're begging on your damn knees to bite the hand that feeds you. But if you do, then you starve.”

Frankie had never had his own fear served to him by such a beautiful devil before. And he wished, with all he had left in him that Lisa hadn’t taken or ruined, that you were wrong. It made him want to cave into himself to protect what little he had left. Snarl like a wounded bitch as he held back from others to lick his wounds. Maybe offer it to you and beg you to take it off his hands. But how could he argue when you were practically holding up a mirror to his own eyes? "I hate that you're right." He said in solemn downcast bereavement. And watched the cloud of smoke float silently in front of your face to obscure the very mouth that let him have it in such careful, exact slicing words. The blade of your knife was sharpened to a paper thin point. Now stained with his body’s red. 

"There are very few things I'm wrong about. Regardless of that, it's a simple formula and easy to understand.”

“And what is it?” He asked, but regretted it for he knew his heart might not be able to take much more. Not that he showed it. This whole exchange his brow hadn’t folded into a single crease. 

“Two things in life are certain: Death. And taxes. You work to pay your taxes, and you die from working."

"That's a pretty pessimistic way of looking at things."

"Life is pessimistic." You shot back with amusement, intently staring in a fixed trance at the pile of burning memories. The last warmth it offered was metaphorically and literally its own destruction. Irony, as Frankie pointed out to himself in his crawling mind. "It crucifies you, and burns you...until you curl in on yourself at the corners and turn to ash." 

The conversation had reached a level of solemnity he hadn’t expected, but he’d be a liar if he didn't admit to sinking his claws in yet again. His teeth might come next if you gave him the sweet chance. 

You were quiet after that. Both of you were. The remnants of a fire that symbolised how Mark was no longer relevant in your life, and neither Lisa in his. If he thought Lisa was machiavellian, the word had new meaning now. But like with her, it drew him in and snared him into blissful trance. It was the type of blind faith you pin to a deity in the sky. The type that you never see but are forced and gaslit into believing because it's shoved down your throat from a young age. You were not his savour. He knew that in the pit of his very existence, the eye of the storm in his gut.

He would be crucified by you. 

“You’re a real ray of sunshine, you know that?”

"Aw." You pouted in mock appreciation, pressing a hand to your chest. "Thank you." 

Frankie afforded himself the pleasure of laughing at that. As cynical as it all was, it was real. You had just dared to say the quiet hushed parts out loud for him to digest. Though he felt like he was choking on it more than swallowing it. Regardless, he pushed it down to find confidence in himself and prod further. 

“You keep doing that.” 

“What?” “That.” Frankie pointed to all of you with a gesture absent of any direction, as if it was obvious. He watched as you tilted your head and scrunched your face a little. That crease in your brow…how it would haunt him in future. He felt like the prey. He was torn between wanting you to hunt him slowly so he could feel something at your hand, agony or not. Or asking you to do it quickly so he doesn't have to pursue through the bitter aftertaste. 

“I’m not following.” 

“You do this thing…where you turn conversations on their head. I feel like I'm getting whiplash.” He forced out a chuckle to make it seem like he was playing through with humour. But his words were genuine under the lace disguise of jest. You really did confuse him. You had his string of thought in knots. Complicated ones. “Why?” 

Your eyes narrowed at the question. “You’re trying to figure me out.” 

“Why shouldn’t i?”

"Because I'm not the distraction you need." You bit, almost like a warning. And Frankie would have listened if he wasn't so hellbent on breaking in. No matter how hostile, how feral, he'd take the time to tame the caged, battered, abused animal. 

“Maybe not.” He agreed, twisting his upper body to face you. It’s important to understand that what Frankie felt wasn’t love. At least, not how he’d experienced it in the past. This was an infatuation birthed by the fruit of lust forbidden to act upon until now. “But you’re the one I want.” With those words came a darkness in his eyes. The kind that reminded you of floods and tempests in biblical art. You were that tempest, with swollen grey clouds and a hammering of thunder ringing in his ears. Laughing as you crashed him onto rocks while he swam helplessly with little energy to the shore. Only to be shoved back with another crushing wave that cut through flesh and met bone with a chill like ice. “Just because we’re sad and miserable, doesn’t mean we have to give up a good time.” His instincts were buried before. Rolling in their grave at the chance to touch you. So he pressed his palms to the lid of the coffin and pushed. Reaching out to trace a delicate line along the angle of your jaw. His eyes were drawn to the soft plush of your lips and how they parted ever so slightly. “I want a distraction, baby.” 

He had you where he wanted you. And the liquor mixing thick with your blood had inhibition slipping through your fingers. His breath was hot on your lips. Needy to be paid attention to.

“Would it be worth my while?” You challenged, ignoring eye contact for now. Instead looking to his lips for the lies. 

“You don’t think I could satisfy you?” He smirked, lifting your chin with a single thick finger curled underneath and the pad of his thumb swiping slowly over your bottom lip. “I’ll do better than anyone else could.”

“Sounds like an awful lot of confidence you have there. At the end of the day, a dog that’s all bark and no bite is just a bitch.” 

Frankie chuckled at that. A deep rumble that rattled the bones that protect the hollow hole in his chest. “Come on…let me have a taste.” 

He didn’t wait for a reply. He took the silence and the glimmer of ‘i dare you’ in your eyes, pressing his lips to yours to consume you. Devour you whole. They took their time in sinking together and suctioning your lower lip into his mouth. Then his tongue dared to venture forward past parted lips to lick into your mouth and taste the backs of your teeth.

First, you let go of trepidation to take a hold of him. The roots of his hair and the back of his neck, fingers curled like talons. After, you let go of all else. The thoughts scratching the back of your skull, the headache that blistered before by the inferno calmed down and you were forced to focus on him alone as he took a handful of your hips and lifted you up to his lap to roll into him like a steady tide. 

You pulled him by the collar of his shirt to your room, clothes left in a scattered flurry along the way. Breadcrumbs to pick up later and either regret or laugh at. He unhinged your jaw to let slip your airy moan as his hands travelled south to meet the seam of your cunt. All else fell into place when he circled your clit with two fingers to start the first loop of the knot in your belly. A warmup for the act of sin, and need, and wanting. Whatever god there was should have never been prayed to in the first place. And Frankie knew it now that he was damned to hell from the first parting of your thighs for his wandering hand. His teeth were ready for sinking as he gathered your legs and hooked them over his shoulders to walk open mouthed, spit decorated kisses down the trunk of your navel. Pressing his nose into your mound. The must of your cunt making his eyes light up as he stared at the bob of your throat when you swallowed sharply. Head rolled back to the pillow. His tongue glided into your folds for the first lick. Making a hot wet stripe of a path from your asshole to your clit. He used the tip of his tongue to circle it and glide lover to curl into your quivering hole. Drawing out the taste. The beckoning gesture of his tongue gathering your taste in his senses. A thumb following suit to roll the bud of your clit under it, his nose clumsy as it bumped into it too. Obsessing over the tang of your arousal, thick in shine over his lips the scruff of his chin.

Your thighs clamped over his ears that were red. The heat made your own skin burn. Dark curls of his hair whispering against their insides as he continued to devour you from the seam. And your orgasm– it burned bright after the first fizzle. Made your eyes scrunch closed as he pulled it from you with hand and tongue. What was used for his words had yours spilling from parted lips like a puppet. A vessel for him to carry pleasure through. It had you toppling over into oblivion. The abyss. 

With bones brittle and hollowed like a bird you were fine to be dead weight as he ascended your body again. Folding you in half with your legs still bent over his shoulders. He traced the jut of your collarbone with the blunt edges of his teeth. How he wished they’d be sharp to sink deeper. But you were grateful as it would be easier for him to not draw blood and see the inside of you ran red like all the others. It was easy to not be human. It was easy to not show emotion and weakness. 

“Feel that?’ he panted against your goosebump pebbled skin, and you nodded. You did. It was the promise to feel desired and not broken. And not maimed beyond repair by another person you let in. Another person you built yourself up to prepare to love, to only have the rug pulled from under your feet and the brickwork clatter to the ground. It was the same promise to him. And the desire that ran thick in his blood made his pulse thrum heavy under its weight. Its intrusion hot under his lust scorched skin.  

“Yeah.” 

“Imma make it go away for you, baby.” he promised with a kiss to the hollow of your throat below its column, between your clavicle. And it was anything but empty. It was full. And round, and swollen with something deeper in his ribs that ached to be let loose. Breathed to fill you too. “I’ll make it all go away.”

His hips pressed flush to yours and the drag of neatly groomed hair sent a shockwave through your clit and up your rattling spine. Vertebrae by vertebrae. Setting off blazing fireworks in your mind for just a second before he started a slow drag. It was a stretch that stung. But pain was comfort if it had pleasure hot on its heels like an obedient dog. Ironic how you feared men like him, who seemed so eager to please and let themselves in uninvited. But you took it willingly this time because you needed to forget for a single second about the heart that bled under flesh and bone in the cage of your ribs. 

His cock was thick, full and curved up into the part of you that you couldn't have reached even if you tried. He slotted into your heat like he was meant to stay there. And that alone made you want to scream for him to give in and not relent so you could be ignorant to the way it seemed divine. The roll of his hips kicked up in pace and soon he was hunched over you. Strong arms rippled with muscle from brutal training since the age of eighteen bracing himself on either side of your head. The feeling of him curling his hips into you made you burn. It sent a tumble of a moan from your lips through the breathless pant of his name. A name he never thought you'd call in the tangle of your sheets. But the burning need to give you what he had wanted all this time ate at him. It ripped the flesh fresh off his bone and left him bleeding into you. 

Frankie’s eyes misted over when the chain that hung from his neck slipped over your chin and you bought the metal of his dog tags between your teeth. Biting down. It feels better biting down anyway. And the cool of the metal on your hot tongue made your head swim. Looking him in his eyes and daring him deeper. So his lips pressed into a firm line, and your nails raked down his back to leave raised red lines in their wake. Tracing new paths over the old map of scar tissue. Marking new land and territory. The air between you hung heavy with the heat of exhales. And blew with the shared moan you indulged in when it coiled in your belly. The cradle of your hips accommodated his cock as it stretched the tightness of your walls. Your slick arousal giving way to fluidity of otherwise rabid motion. Starving.  

When on his tongue, you were alive. Inside you he breathed again with the clutch of your cunt around him. Warm and beating, and thrumming quickly like a hummingbird's wings. A squatter temporarily camped up in the crack between two ribs. Where thick muscle shuddered with breath. You believed something in you was worth loving. But you also knew for it to be found you'd have to be flayed alive. 

The crash of his hips into yours aided in the symphony of sex, and filled the four walls painted but void of personal belongings. If he were on the other side of them he'd be jealous. But now he was here, he was alive. Beating hearted and thriving. And any god, saint, angel or divinity could watch and weep as he finally had what he wanted. What he might have needed in order to restore his humanity that lay dormant for so long. He was trying to crack you open so he could lick up what lay inside you. Gather it up in his arms like the greedy wolf, lambs gore, blood and flesh, between fangs of his lower jaw. Have the muscle pulsing between his teeth. But he wouldn't. So for now he'd settle for the flesh on show. The mound of your panting breast that he pressed into his open mouth. The flat of his tongue pressing greedily to your nipple. Before his lips pinched together and pulled the left pert. Switching to do the same for the right. Not leaving an inch of you untouched. Because he had his chance now. And who knew when he'd get another. So he relished in what he was spared and he would take it with him to the grave. Dream of it on his deathbed if this killed him. Or if something else did. Regardless. This would run through his mind until his last heavy and troubled breath. 

“That's it.” he murmured into your breast. “Take it. Take it, baby. Take me..” 

Your back arched, strung tight like a bow ready to fire. Spine curled up into the heat of his mouth and he bit down again on the swell of your breast. Wanting to take its entire weight into his mouth and have it rot and smear into his tongue. The fizzle of nerve endings reached the tips of your curling toes. The heels of your feet digging into the planes of his scapula to press him closer in the burning of your young orgasm. 

“Come on. Let me see you come.” Frankie demanded in a breathless growl as he stared you down with his eyes.  The hue of his irises almost devoured by black of pupil. Your jaw unhinged to let rip a silent scream. Feeling that sharp coil snap, and a numbness fill your aching core before your toes curl in pleasure. He helped you ride it out with his cock fucking into your tight weeping cunt while you sang out his name in a chorus of moans, whimpers and cries. Letting go utterly as a rush filled you, lighting you up like dry kindling under your skin. The pulsating of your walls around his length had his hips faltering for just a moment, twitching within your sopping cunt. His head fell into the crook of your neck as he let out a deep guttural groan, closing in on skin with teeth again. Spilling inside you, the mix of your slick with his cum painting you white like the searing heat of pleasure between you. He leaves the last of his load with you by fucking it deeper. Three, sharp, punctuated thrusts. 

He lay flat above you while he awaited the comedown from his catharsis. The tingle down his spine sputtered out in a haze of slowburn afterglow. Eyes closed and face buried into the crook of your perspiring neck. Panting together. Hit tongue forgot for a second to shape your name the way it sounded, but with a sharp inhale, the air surged his mind. 

“I suppose this is the part where I leave?” He mumbled, pulling back from your skin. His time had come and ended. The two of you now sat back to the world of hallway and laundromat limbo. He sighed through his nose when you nodded. And he did the same, pressing his lips into a thin line. 

Frankie gathered his clothes up, putting them on slowly one by one. Drawing out the ache of being alone again by lingering in your presence. 

“Come back tomorrow.” You said. Not asked. He nodded, still facing the door. Then twisted the handle and left an empty space in your apartment where he had once been. 

[valley-of-headcanons]

Harveys reaction to the farmer getting hurt in the mines?

bachelors reacting to you getting hurt || headcanons

these bachelors vowed to stay with you, in sickness and in health! part one here!

warnings: you get hurt (obv) by: the mines, tree, ocean, farming, concert exhaustion, and animals. if you're scared of that, don't read this :)

requested by: @stardewhhore + anon! hii, i decided to combine this request for convenience. this is a part two to one of my earlier posts, so i hope you enjoy! :)

alex

• Alex knew you had left for the day when he woke up, assuming you were out on the town doing something important. You were actually down in the forest, chopping some trees so that you could craft a few more chests. With Alex moving in, you needed a lot more storage! So, you chopped down trees like you normally would. You weren't expecting one to fall your way ...

• Finally getting out of the house today, Alex decided he was going to play some gridball out in the forest. He needed to get out of the house and feel the sun on his skin! He hummed softly to himself as he walked out to the forest, tossing the ball up in the air and catching it. His eyes drifted away from the ball to a fallen tree ... with you under it.

• A rush of adrenaline pushed Alex toward you at lightning speed, picking the tree up off of you and holding you in his arms. Looking across your body for wounds, he knew that he needed to get you to Harvey's as soon as possible. Alex's emotions were battling him, tears pooling up in his eyes. He's good at hiding his emotions, but not when someone he loves is hurt. He got you to Harvey's as soon as possible, sitting beside you as Harvey examined your body. Once you woke, Alex let out a sigh of relief and kissed your knuckles.

• “Babe ... I am so glad you're awake. I would hug you right now, but Harv' said your ribs are a little bit broken ... not too bad though, don't worry! I'll help you get better. You're lucky I was there to save your clumsy ass, it was just a coincidence I was walking by ... hey, don't worry about it. If you need help doing anything dangerous, let me be there ... to spot you, I guess? I know that's not the right term, but in my terms, it is. ... I love you so much, and I don't know what I'd do without you.”

• Alex took you home and made sure you were comfortable. He was very cautious and careful with you, making sure to give you what you need and not to hurt you. Yes, it was hard not to wrap his arms around you and hug you tight, but he managed. Your health was more important than his wants. He loved you and showed it in alternate ways, through his words and actions.

elliott

• Fishing was part of your daily routine. The beach was always your favorite spot, you enjoyed the beautiful scenery and the memories you've made with the love of your life. You sat on the beach, casting your rod and waiting for a fish to bite. Elliott was back at home, not worried about your whereabouts. You were always safe and careful! ... sometimes, accidents happen, though.

• Elliott decided to go for a stroll on the beach. He knew he'd probably run into you, since he knows you so well. The beach was such a relaxing place, and with you there, it'd make it even better! So, he happily made his way towards the sand, humming softly as he did so. He didn't expect to see you face down in the sand. You didn't look so good ...

• His heart dropped through his shoes, racing towards you as fast as he could. Tears pricked at his eyes, letting his emotions get in the way of logistics. He turned you over, giving you CPR. You were breathing, it wasn't that big of a deal, but Elliott's thoughts wouldn't slow down enough to think this through. Words can't describe how relieved he was when you opened your eyes, though.

• “Oh dearest! You scared the daylights out of me, I was horrified! I thought I had lost you for good, my love. Please, don't scare me like that again! Are you okay, are you feeling well? I would do anything to help you, I hate to see you in such a state! You mean the world to me, my love, and I don't know what I would do if my world stopped turning. Now, let's get you to the hospital. Let me do everything for you, please.”

• Elliott picked you up very carefully before practically racing to Harvey's. He bursted through the door, handing you to Harvey and explaining the situation with his usual dramatics. Harvey tended to you and let you both know that it was going to be fine, but you were to be on bed rest for a few days. Elliott held true to that, staying by your side as much as he could. He showered you with as much love and affection that you needed to feel better.

harvey

• You were hard at work in the mines, making sure to get some gems to bring home for your husband. Yes, working in the mines wasn't the easiest and was definitely a health hazard, but it would be fine! You've done it so many times before, why would this be different! All you had to do was get the job done and get home. But … you forgot to bring food down to the mines and your energy was running low. Uh oh.

• Harvey got home from his shift at the clinic, walking into the cabin to something strange. You weren't there, there was no note as to where you had gone … huh, isn't that odd? He had a strange feeling. He grabbed his first aid kit just in case, like always, and headed to the mines. He had a strange suspicion … he hoped he wouldn't be right. But when he got to the floor you were on, his heart dropped.

• Seeing your unconscious body resting on the floor of the mines, he panicked. Harvey is known for being calm during medical emergencies, but when it came to you … he couldn't bear seeing you hurt. He picked you up and carried you to the top of the mines, resting your body against some rocks as he checked your vitals. You seemed fine, maybe a concussion and some scratches. He got to work stitching you up when you stirred awake. Harvey let out a giant sigh of relief as he wrapped his arms around you, pressing a kiss to your temple.

• “Oh thank God- … you’re okay, you're okay … I was really worried about you for a second there. I knew you'd probably be fine, it's just … I hate the thought of your life being in my hands … I’m just glad you're okay. Let me check to see if you're concussed, dear. It'll only take a moment, then we'll get you home and to bed. You need to rest, my love. Doctor’s orders.”

• He did just that, getting you home and into bed after cleaning all your wounds and making sure everything was okay. You were fine, you just needed to stay in bed for the next few days. Harvey could work from home for the next few days, it would be fine. Harvey made sure to keep you healthy, fed, and hydrated. You deserve only the best from your loving husband.

sam

• Sam was finally performing at a pretty big venue, and of course his lovely partner would be in attendance! You wouldn't miss it for the world! You danced and sang along to every song, not stopping for a second! Until ... you started to feel a bit faint. The heat paired with all of the excitement started getting to you. And then it got you. You hit the ground with a thud.

• After getting off stage, Sam's first thought was to go see you. Of course, you were always let back stage. But, he didn't see you. Something was off. He walked toward his friends, asking where you were. They stuttered and explained that you were in the emergency tent. His heart dropped.

• Sam didn't even take off his costume or mic pack before running at full speed toward the tent. He was extremely worried about you, and his heart was pounding. The adrenaline of the concert basically carried him to the tent, getting there quicker than anyone would have thought. You had already woken up, and you were getting taken care of.

• “Oh my God- BABE?! Are you okay, what happened?! I- ... I'm sorry, I couldn't see from the stage, I should've been paying more attention! I would've stopped the show- ... Babe, yes, I would have! I love you, but I would've stopped for any emergency, I don't want anyone hurt, especially not my partner! ... as long as you're okay, it's not a problem. I love you, and please take it easy. I love that you're supporting me, but don't support me too hard, okay?!”

• Sam took you home and pampered you for the rest of the night. He kept apologizing, worried for your health and taking the orders the doctor had given you very seriously. He loved you, and it showed through every kiss and hug he gave you. Sam was basically your servant for an entire week, giving you whatever you needed and wanted!

sebastian

• Every morning, by the time Sebastian woke up, you were already hard at work. He was more of a night owl, while your limit was 2 AM. You were up bright and early to start working on your shared farm. Today was harvest day, so you began the strenuous task of getting your hundreds of crops taken care of. Since when did your farm get so big? And since when did the hot, summer air bother you so much? And since when was the world around you so fuzzy ..? ... thud!

• Sebastian finally rose from his slumber relatively late in the evening. He saw that you already left, so he decided to grab an energy drink from the fridge. He didn't feel like going through the hassle of making a huge pot for just himself. Sebastian did, however, want to see how you were doing. So, he headed outside to see his lovely partner ... face down in the farm. That's not a good sight to see.

• Frozen for a moment, Sebastian stared at the sight in front of him. He slowly creeped forward, biting down on his lip softly as he approached. A huge sigh of relief escaped him once he realized you were still breathing. He quickly sat beside you, trying to get you to wake up. It didn't seem to be working. He gathered enough strength to pick you up, slightly struggling, and carry you down to Harvey's. He told Harvey everything he could before sitting down beside you. As Harvey was cleaning you up and doing a quick check-up, your eyes carefully opened.

• "Good, you're finally up. You had me worried, hon ... I assume the heat got to you, it was definitely hot out today. Maybe we should both be taking better care of ourselves. Harvey said you're dehydrated ... I'm just glad it's nothing serious ... I thought the worst had happened when I saw you out there. I am so glad you're okay, my love."

• Sebastian followed Harvey's orders as close as he could, making sure you were drinking enough water and eating enough to keep your energy up throughout the day. He also took a few pointers for himself, drinking more water instead of energy drinks. He wanted to keep you safe, and if that meant taking better care of both you and himself, he'd do it.

shane

• It was a hot summer’s morning, and you were about to head out for the day to work on the farm. This is the usual, nothing out of the ordinary. Shane opted to stay inside for a while, hitting the metaphorical snooze button. You started work on your daily chores and decided to help Shane out by doing a few extra ones. One of which was the chicken coop. It really did get hot this time of year, and you hadn't ate this morning … thud.

• Once Shane got out of bed, he sluggishly started to do his chores. They were a bore, but they had to be done. He loved you, and whatever he could do to make your life easier, he would. One of the things he does enjoy is going to hang out with the chickens. He put it on the top of his to-do list, marching out of the cabin with a pretty tiny spring in his step. What he didn't expect to find was you laying down face first in the hay of the chicken coop.

• He raced toward you, his heart beating wildly out of his chest. Seeing that you were at least alive, he let out a breath of fresh air. He couldn't seem to get you awake, though … he dragged you out of the chicken coop, barely being able to pick you up and get you in the house. Putting a cold rag on your forehead and pointing every fan in the house directly onto you, he waited for you to wake up. And once you did, he was ecstatic.

• “Hey, ya passed out on me back there … yeah, everything’s fine, I was uh- … just worried about you, that’s all. Let me handle the chickens from now on, you're gonna overwork yourself. I love you doin’ favors for me but I don't love you passing out on me. Now … let’s get you checked out at Harvey’s, I’m just hopin’ you didn't bump your head too hard when you hit the ground.”

• Shane got you to Harvey’s as soon as he could, being your crutch the whole way there. He listened to what Harvey had to say, taking a mental note of it as he got you back to the house. You were on close but subtle supervision. He would do anything you need, staying pretty close, but wouldn't get too far up in your business. He loves you sincerely, though. He just hates seeing you hurt like this. But, being depended upon is pretty nice for a change.

[shana-silver-fox]

TBOC 2.03 L'Invisible

The title was clearly a callback to Rick and Carol's conversation at how good she is playing undercover detective. She gets it done in this episode.

Lots found this one boring, but for someone like me who likes to over analyze every little bit it was packed with lots of goodies.

Ces Douleurs

Genet: These pains we carry, we women need to learn to let them go. Men seem to have no problem doing that.

Carol: They certainly do not.

Damn. I FELT THAT hard!

we open with Genet's back story and what will be a parallel later to Tinkyl

The purposeful comparison of Carol to the Mona Lisa is just *chefs kiss.

The most famous painting in the world. The most famous lady of The Walking Dead. Both with that hidden secret behind their smile.

This quickly turns into Genet displaying a show of power over a much bigger man by making him eat food off the floor like a dog. There is another scene in the next episode that is very similiar. Would like to hear ya'lls thoughts on the point of this.

The man she humiliates has disrespected the lady who is serving them food. I lost count of the times haters have tried to diminish and disrespect Carol for "just being the cook". Wonder if this was a Melissa note? Genet tells Carol she has no tolerance for bullies, and no one has been bigger bullies in this fandom than the Carol haters.

Loved this. We know Carol wants Daryl in the kitchen with her.

Experiments. Yes we heard about Daryl’s “experiment” from Norman. Just as gruesome. No thanks.

Cordron: I had him and I let him go.

Carol knows what that’s like. Cordron also thinks Carol’s last name is Dixon now.

More talk about coincidences and signs. Look for the signs. 🪧

Remmy let us down, but his line saying Carol would have done the same for HER DARYL is so true.

The symbolism of Carol riding to the rescue on a white horse through a tunnel was beautiful. She was just cut off, unfortunately. So much tunnel symbolism connected to Caryl I could do a seperate post. Even Losang talks about light at the end of the tunnel. “you make the light” “follow my light”

I do love Carol’s reaction to hearing Daryl has aligned himself with a religious group. “REALLY?” Like the fandom’s reaction to this version of Daryl so far 😂

Carol: the war to end all wars? I’ve heard that before.

Shade at Rick?

Calling Daryl Carol’s raison d’être is spot on. It translates to “reason to live”

Tick tock time for the fairytale to end

Conveniently Sylvia dies so Isabelle doesn’t have to confess to executing Emile.

Why did Izzy just stand there and wait for Daryl to shoot walker Sylvie? Was she gonna let it happen? 🤨

I was impressed with Daryl’s action scene. Norman’s stunt double actually got a bit of a break. He made sure to get his Carol knife back!

Losang’s break down of Daryl is amazing….

losang :Simply reacting. A man alone. It’s a sad state. He’s right. Daryl has been just reacting not feeling since he got to France. and he feels totally alone

Only by risking everything can we be sure. Daryl’s so scared to risk everything with Carol

Daryl: What happens if you’re wrong?

Losang: If I’m wrong there would be no point in going on There’s Daryl’s greatest fear. If he risks it all to tell Carol how he feels and ends up being wrong and she doesn’t feel the same way, then loses her friendship, he will think he doesn’t have a reason to go on.

Laurent and Daryl’s cave couldn’t be more Lost Boys coded.

Laurent: Not Daryl. He never believed.

Yes toodles, & that’s why Tinkerbelle dies.

The Leah parallel is just too much

When Isabelle figures out she’s Tinkerbelle 😥

Ok did everyone hear that distinct change in music tone after Tink says ILY? It was fraught, not happy. Along with Daryl’s expression.

Lasong to Daryl :Isabelle has always had an open mind and heart. You sadly are beyond hope

Daryl’s heart has been closed off and he thinks he’s beyond hope 😭😭😭 but hope is coming to open it!

Hope in the form of a tiny woman from Georgia is on her way to save you. Hope is not lost Daryl, she has a map!

The perfect bookend to this episode was Isabelle’s Douleurs Exquise . It’s a very common French phrase that means the pain of unrequited love. Poor Izzy. Getting silence and no return on that ILY was rough. 🥶

From Ces Douleurs , to Douleurs Exquise

Fin

[invinciblerodent]

Listening to Vows & Vengeance again after having played Veilguard kind of puts this (already ominous) part of the first episode into a little bit of a new context. [Spoilers ahead.]

And even when I listened to this the first time, this fit into the context of Trespasser perfectly (when all we knew was that he's seeking to bring down the Veil and bring back the harmonious world he remembers, nothing more specific than that)- but in retrospect, and knowing what we do about the Evanuris now, this part really spells out that Solas is not seeking a reform, or the good of elves (or dwarves, or anyone), in doing so.

By his own admission, he never was.

I think this is one thing on which I've seen people give him what I think is way too much credit: Solas' goal, in his own words even, never was to make the world better.

It was always to make it what it once was, which he merely believes to have been better.

He calls it a reckoning, a punishment of misdeeds (those of the Evanuris? maybe also his own?). He seeks to bring back ancient Elvhenan (from before the Evanuris' rise to power? before the war against the Titans? before everything?), to restore the perfect world of unity between spirits and mortals (were there mortals, besides the dwarves then? would him succeeding do anything for, or even to the dwarves?) that exists only in his mind now, and his views and goals have always been regressive, by virtue of simply being what they are.

He calls his goals a regeneration, like he's cutting back a dead plant (didn't he call present day Thedas something like "a world of Tranquil"?) to give new growth, healthy growth, the opportunity to live- but what he very conveniently neglects to acknowledge at every given opportunity is that the branches he's been working to hack down are alive.

In Veilguard, he says to Rook that he had plans to "minimize the damage", the loss of life. But now that I'm looking at as complete a picture of him as we'll ever have... I genuinely struggle to imagine that those plans had any intention at all of actually preserving the living, or if it's just another clever half-truth we're meant to interpret as him intending to preserve life, just based on how different Solas' own definition of the living seems to be. (Yes, he's seeking to preserve life. But who exactly right now has what he considers a life, seems to be up for a little bit of debate.)

... An extra tidbit that I find interesting in this is that this whole exchange happens in a cave in the Silent Plains, which is the site of the ending of the First Blight, where Dumat fell. Dumat is presently believed to have been the dragon thrall of Dirthamen, god of Secrets, the first of the trapped Evanuris to fall, and Corypheus, whom Solas entrusted with the Orb of Fen'Harel in Inquisition, was a High Priest of Dumat.

I don't think any of this can really be a coincidence. There's got to be something weird going on in the Silent Plains.

[distant--shadow]

The Witch and the Widow - Chapter 6 - Ostrea Edulis

Imogen admittedly doesn’t have much experience steering a horse from the driver’s box of a carriage.

She had done her best to get some practice in, of course; following the reasonable road to and from Fairfield Farm a handful of times, testing which of the horses wore the harnesses, pulled the weight of the carriage, and paired up together with the most ease.

But it is not second nature for her (more like a third), and she does not sit on the wooden bench comfortably; a gnawing anxiety stirring in her stomach as if she were on a boat and at the whims of the sea.

She had only been on a boat once, and it was for quite the journey.

vicious waters

terribly treacherous, with their habits of reciting rumours to estuaries and rivers that feed into the communities.

If she blinks too slowly she is presented pictures on the backs of her eyelids;

broken wheels, head-on collisions, carriage-carved tracks leading paths to final destinations off of the lip of a cliff.

(Not images of the future gifted by her powers - at least she hopes. These such images are only the boons of an anxious mind.)

A number of times she considers climbing over the wooden enclosure shelving her feet and onto the rear of one of the horses; straddling their unsaddled ribcage between her legs and putting more faith in the feedback of a certain halt instructed from direct contact rather than the separation of who knows how many manufacturers’ hands and the mechanical pull of a lever below her seat to a spring to a break to a wheel.

Certain as her pull on Ceviche’s reins when he attempted to buck the Lady - Ms Laudna - off of himself in fright, as a mummified corpse of a horse surfaced from the lake, disrupting its mirroring of the sky.

How much of Ms Laudna’s attention does she divide between the view from the window and what Imogen assumes of a book in her lap? Does she wish to know the route with an accustomed year-round seasonal familiarity as she does the belt around the lake? Or does she wish to hurry the passing of each signpost? Ask Sorcha to read her home-library-loaned paragraphs, praising the girl’s ability in spite of the jostling of narrow wooden wheels-

“I can read the labelling on the grain bags an’ all, I’m a real asset.”

“Absolutely -I must show you the library sometime, though you certainly are an outdoor being, even if a grass-grazer at that.”

praise-

(she hadn’t left what a thorough job Imogen had done of cleaning and buffing the carriage of its years of collecting cobwebs and dust and bringing it back to its ‘former glory’ unremarked.)

-would she identify the family of trees that gave the wheels their timber? Tip her bonnet to them as they pass in communal cluster, communing through touching roots, bordering one stretch of rolling hills as it sprawls into another?

Would Angharad have gotten sick from the motions of her own carriage ride? Imogen can’t imagine that she would feel too timid to entertain herself as a distraction with the presence of whoever it was escorting her.

Perhaps the plan was for that carriage to be the one that veered off track.

Maybe it will be a coincidence;  a convenience that the Lady leaves her estate for the first time at the very least since Imogen had been under her employ, a coincidence that they would pass an opening ploughed through the hedgerow decorated with timber and axel,

Angharad without her apron on; the blood soaking her dress her own

body limp for the next moon’s deadweight to be lifted over the horse-

 “Imogen!” Ms Laudna calls, fortunately not sounding as though alarming her to the approach of another oncoming carriage.

The road stretches out before them uninterrupted, not a hole in the hedgerow to be seen, so Imogen feels somewhat at ease with her decision to turn and look over her shoulder (not that she would have disobeyed her Lady’s call regardless).

“Yes, m’lady?”

Ms Laudna leans outside of the carriage window, holding her hat to the scalp of her tilted head as the wind whistles past her (not quite the bowing of her skull in acknowledgment to the trees Imogen had pictured).

She has never seen her hair so dishevelled-

She likes how it looks on her.

“I think we should stop for lunch!” Ms Laudna projects around a smile, unthreading errant hairs as they try to weave in between her exposed teeth.

Imogen almost forgets to reply.

They stop at the turn-in for a gate to a large and open field, Ms Laudna - with Sorcha’s assistance -laying out a patchwork blanket anchored in one corner by a ribboned square wicker picnic basket.

Imogen does her best to not address Ms Laudna by her name in front of Sorcha; despite the noticeable lack of meats in the spread of cheeses and home-grown fruits and preserved vegetables and freshly-sliced bread.

Their journey resumes; uninterrupted by carriage tracks veering off into the hedgerow.

[somedaylazysomeday]

Good Intentions Part Twenty

The Haven gets a new donor, Silco wants a side deal.

Rating: Explicit.

Word Count: 4,900

Warnings: Ongoing references to sex as a form of payment, veiled references to organized crime, arguments, oral sex (fem!receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, and blackmail

Previous | Next | Masterlist

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You did your best not to squint at the men on the other side of the table. Doing so would only make it look like you were suspicious of them. 

You were suspicious of them, of course, but there was no need to be obvious. 

“My apologies, gentlemen,” you said slowly. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but with all of the opportunities available to you, I don’t understand why you are so interested in helping to fund the Haven.”

“It’s complicated.” Jayce Talis, the most famous Piltover inventor in recent history, rubbed at the space between his heavy brows. 

“I do own and operate a relief organization and facilitate certain healthcare treatments, including minimizing the effects of Shimmer withdrawal,” you pointed out mildly. “Maybe, if you explain it slowly, I can follow along.”

One corner of his mouth curved upward, emphasizing the fullness of his lips. He was famously handsome and infamously unavailable, but that was fine. Your tastes ran in other directions. 

His business partner - a man who was known around the Undercity only as Viktor - crossed his arms, slouching back in his seat. You tried not to judge it as a show of poor manners, especially when he straightened his leg with a wince. It was very likely Viktor just needed to adjust positions. Of course, it was equally likely that he didn’t find you very amusing. 

“Make your point, Jayce,” Viktor muttered. “We have important business to take care of at the lab.”

“Yes, the lab,” Jayce said, adding a nod in your direction. “As you may already know, HexTech is doing well. We have made several important advancements and are set to debut more over the next few years. We own the patents to everything outright, so all profits come to us. Piltover has given us a few dozen grants and investments have flooded in. We have plenty of money to pursue the further development of HexTech.” 

You nodded. It all seemed simple to understand so far.

“There is one particular area where HexTech does not excel: outreach.” Viktor interrupted with an impatient look at his now-pouting business partner. “That is why we reached out to you.” 

“Yes, but is there a particular reason you want to support the Haven rather than any other Undercity outreach?” you pressed. Maybe you were a little paranoid, but your recent experiences with Silco had convinced you that being more discerning was probably a smart move. 

Jayce sat forward slightly. “The Haven’s track record is impressive. Your expense justification reports have all shown remarkably low operating costs, your residents have started to find work with other Undercity businesses, and there’s plenty of buzz about the dent you’ve made in the Shimmer trade in your neighborhood.” 

The blood roared in your ears at that. “That’s an overstatement, of course. Drug use waxes and wanes in neighborhoods over time. It’s just coincidence that Shimmer use decreased when the Haven opened.” 

Jayce furrowed his brows, but Viktor looked like you had finally said something interesting. “I assume that is the line one must repeat vehemently if one wants to avoid the attention of the chem barons.” 

“Chem barons?” Jayce repeated, now frowning harder. “They’re a local legend, a convenient shadow government that the people can blame their problems on.”

“Of course,” you agreed. 

Viktor looked darkly amused. “Nothing more than a legend, certainly.” 

“Yeah…” Jayce said slowly, glancing between you and Viktor. “Anyway, we’ve heard about the decreased drug use and we want to support that as much as possible. You and the Haven seem like the best choice to make that happen.”

“How is your security?” Viktor asked abruptly. 

“We have a small team of guards for the exterior of the building,” you said honestly. It probably wouldn’t help anything if you told them exactly who was paying for that small team of guards. “There is almost no Enforcer presence in the Lanes, so we can’t count on a patrol happening at a crucial time.” 

“I can pull a few strings,” Jayce assured you, totally confident. “I have some connections with the Enforcers. Piltover wants to support new development, especially when it isn’t tied to the drug trade. And they’re not going to find anything better than an anti-Shimmer organization with a proven track record.” 

You nodded in acknowledgement of his point, but looked to Viktor. “And you? Do you also think the Haven is a good match for HexTech’s goals?”

Viktor lifted one shoulder in a halfhearted shrug. “I fail to see what impact your outreach could possibly have on the Undercity. The politics are snarled, the people are desperate, and there is too much money to be made from exploitation.” 

That was a harsh assessment, but it was true. Jayce cleared his throat uncomfortably, but Viktor spoke again before the better-mannered of the pair could offer any reassurances. “That being said, I am… reluctantly impressed by what I have heard of your meetings with Silco. There are few willing to argue with him.” 

You stiffened slightly at Viktor’s mention of Silco. Up to that point, you had both pointedly avoided using his name, as evidenced by the way Jayce was glancing between the two of you. 

“I don’t understand,” Jayce admitted. “Who is Silco?” 

“You will find out,” Viktor said, the statement sounding both threatening and utterly inevitable as he stood. “I must return to the lab. Jayce, I agree with whatever choice you make.” 

You watched as Viktor leaned heavily on the cane and left the building. It was situated at the edge of Piltover, just across the bridge from the Undercity. Jayce had assured you multiple times that, if they were not working on time-sensitive experiments at HexTech, they would have been more than willing to meet you in the Undercity. He may have even been telling the truth. 

Jayce was still half-smiling when he looked back at you. “Who is Silco?” 

You got the impression that he would keep pushing until he got an answer, so you chose your words carefully. “He is a… major player in the Undercity. He wants- well, he says he’s working for the good of the people. That’s up for debate.” 

“But what does he do?” Jayce pressed. 

“He’s an industrialist.” You sat very straight on the edge of your chair - not quite standing, but giving the impression that you were ready to leave. “Speaking of helping the Undercity, I need to get back to the Haven. When you’ve made a decision about your outreach, please let me know.” 

“Easy enough,” Jayce said, standing to offer a hand over the table. “HexTech would like to provide funding for the Haven, to be used in whatever way you think is appropriate.” 

You were giddy with excitement, and it rushed through your veins like adrenaline. Somehow, you managed to keep a straight face long enough to thank Jayce and accept the check he filled out for the Haven. It was generous, which made your heart soar. You would be able to help so many people!

The good news put a spring in your step and you were still bouncing as you climbed the stairs to Silco’s office. Thankfully, no one was around so early in the day - you had serious doubts about your ability to look cranky and irritated right then, but you would have been obliged to put on a performance if there were onlookers. 

“You seem cheerful,” Silco noted as you closed the door behind yourself. 

“So far, so good,” you told him, walking over to his desk. “What’s the plan for today?” 

He ignored your question. “Productive morning, I take it?” 

“Very.” 

You peered out through the window. The Last Drop was just barely tall enough for you to catch glimpses of the building projects happening over near the Haven. The mechanic’s shop was well on its way to being completed, the construction crews had broken ground on the second apartment building, and the grocers were taking over an existing building, so they were already in the process of hiring staff. 

As you leaned back, you caught sight of a familiar handprint on the glass and your lower belly tightened with the reminder of how it had gotten there. 

“And how much will HexTech be allotting you?” 

With the casually conversational way Silco asked his question, you didn’t immediately notice that anything was wrong. Your attention was split between the handprint on the window and the ever-increasing needs of your body. At last, awareness filtered through and you froze. 

‘I-” You cleared your throat, giving your best innocent expression as you turned to look at him. “What do you mean?” 

Silco gave an impatient gesture. “Come, pet, we have already discussed that I know all that happens in Zaun.” 

“Nothing happened in Zaun,” you said blandly. 

His answering look was dry. “But a potential alliance between the Haven and HexTech undeniably concerns Zaun and her future. Do me the courtesy of assuming I know of your meeting with the two inventors behind HexTech.”

“Fine,” you agreed, largely because he gave no indication of moving on. “I met with the owners of HexTech.” 

“Thank you,” Silco said, gaze drifting to the window. “And how much has young Talis decided to give the Haven?” 

You paused, uncomfortable with the idea that you needed to place a boundary. You and Silco shouldn’t be close enough to need things like boundaries - the clear divisions between you should have been so obvious as to be implied. “I’m not sharing that information with you.” 

“Why not?” he asked. “If I know the size of their donation, I can exceed it.” 

“I don’t need any more donations at the moment,” you told him. 

Silco’s brows unfurrowed. “Ah, that much? Congratulations. You may rest secure in the knowledge that the sale of your morals has fetched so high a price.” 

You recoiled at the slight before you could stop yourself. A drug lord was going to lecture you about morals? That bothered you. Surely that was the cause of your discomfort. Any other reason would imply that Silco was important enough to you that his opinion mattered. 

“I didn’t have to sacrifice my morals to accept their donation, unlike others the Haven has received in the past,” you told him icily. 

Silco stood abruptly, his chair lurching back with the movement. You held your ground, though it took more effort than you were comfortable with. “My donations served your residents just as well as the ones from HexTech will, and at far more dire a time. Do not act as though I were not there to support you every time you have needed me.” 

You gaped at that. “Because we’re in a deal! Every donation served you just as well as it did me - it increased your leverage over me and the Haven. Convenient, since you need me around for an easy source of sex.” 

He scoffed, looming over you. “Do you truly believe that there are not others who throw themselves at my feet? I receive more offers of easy sex than you would believe possible.” 

“Then why keep me around?” you pressed. 

“Because you are the only one who offers the slightest hint of a challenge!” he snapped, breathing heavily. You had stepped into him rather than away, and he was already so close that your chest and his were nearly touching. You glared at each other from inches away before one or both of you closed the gap separating you.

His mouth was hard and unyielding against yours, disinterested in any hint of refusal. Fortunately, refusing his kiss was the last thing on your mind. The energy of securing the HexTech donation was still crackling through you, and sex was a wonderful outlet. The slight tinge of irritation accompanying it only served to increase the appeal. 

You met him with lips that were already slightly parted, and your tongues were dueling in a moment. Kissing Silco wasn’t entirely unfamiliar to you, but it was still rare enough that you considered it a novel experience. 

Your toes were curling at the slow luxury of his mouth on yours. Silco was rarely in a hurry, even now, when you were apparently taking a break in the middle of a fight. Your interest was only piqued further when he started removing your clothing with rough movements. When he had finished, he pushed you backward as you gasped with shock.

Fortunately, Silco had thought far enough ahead to position you close to his desk. The sensation of your bare ass on the cold surface of the desk was jarring, but you watched Silco eagerly. You were more than willing to brave the temperature difference in order to watch him undress for you. 

To your surprise, Silco lowered himself, fully-dressed, into his throne-like chair. You eyed him, frowning as he took your ankles in his hands. They were placed to either side of his chair, leaving them supported by the arm rests at his sides. It went without saying that your knees were forced open by the position, leaving your core exposed to the air… and to Silco’s gaze.

That mismatched stare was fixed between your legs, studying the most private parts of you as you tried not to squirm. When he reached out to touch your cunt, you felt his fingertips like electric shocks… but he only parted your folds and continued his silent observation. 

Irritation, embarrassment, and need swirled together in you until the pressure pushed words from your mouth. “Silco. What are you doing?” 

“Studying my favorite acquisition,” he replied distantly. Even lost in your own distraction, you could feel the echo of your first time together, in this very situation in this very office, when Silco had said something similar. “And wondering how my pet can be so very unyielding, yet yield so delightfully in other areas.” 

You frowned at him - not that Silco was looking at your face. “Whatever answers you’re looking for, you aren’t going to find them down there.” 

That made him glance upward, a small smile playing around the corner of his mouth. “Perhaps it would be best if you lay back.” 

You complied, though not without rolling your eyes. “If we’re having a repeat of our first session, I hope the sex is more satisfactor- Oh!” 

Without any sort of warning, Silco’s mouth had closed around your clit. You half-lifted back off the surface of his desk, staring down at his face between your legs. You could only hope that your expression was less desperate than you felt, but wicked pleasure filled Silco’s gray-green eye, so you didn’t think that was accurate.

And then he set about making you forget all about expressions and irritations. Silco buried himself between your thighs, teasing you with fingers and lips and tongue and teeth. He nibbled, he stroked, he thrust… He used every hint of weakness he had gathered from you over your time together, recalling every sensation that drove you wild and subjecting you to all of them at once.  

You arched up off the desk so sharply that the muscles in your back and abdomen protested. Your knees tried to close around Silco - either to keep him close or to force him away from you, you weren’t sure which - but his shoulders kept you spread open and subjected to his torment. 

By the time he had pressed three fingers deep inside of you, your body was glistening with sweat. You were panting, your hips trying to both ride him and grind closer to the lips that were wrapped around your clit.

Silco always ate you like he was trying to ruin you for anyone else, but this was more intense than anything you had experienced with him before. You didn’t remember when you had sank your hands into his hair, but it didn’t matter. You were using him only as an anchor; he never moved far enough away for you to need to pull him back. 

At last, he removed himself from you, pulling away almost entirely. The only parts of his body that was touching you were his shoulders, still holding you spread open for him. 

“Silco?” you asked, an edge of desperation clear in your voice. 

“Shh, pet,” he soothed. “I am trying to decide whether you deserve the reward of coming on my tongue.” 

You whined, lifting your hips as if you could convince him to come back. 

“I am less than thrilled by your association with the Piltover business,” Silco admitted slowly. Torturously slowly. “Yet I suppose you may have earned a treat for coming to meet with me anyway. Is that correct?”

You nodded. 

Silco leaned slightly closer. “You would not break our deal over a single donation from another business, would you?” 

You shook your head. 

Silco came even closer then - still not touching you, but near enough that you could feel every exhale on your damp folds. “Does our deal still stand, pet?” 

You nodded, but Silco shook his head. “I need to hear it in that lovely voice. Tell me, darling: does our deal still stand?”  

“Y-yes,” you stammered, the dryness in your throat making it difficult to speak. “Yes!”

“Ahh…” he mused. “How long will it stand?” 

He watched you with a gaze so sharp you understood instinctively that he would only accept a spoken answer. This one was more challenging; he hadn’t told you what he wanted you to say and thinking was difficult when your brain was soaked in hormones and arousal. 

“Until- ah!” Silco had darted a long lick up your folds - not touching anything firmly enough to throw you over the edge, but still startling. And distracting. “As long as I’m in the Undercity.” 

“Our deal will stand as long as you are in the Undercity,” Silco repeated. You nodded and he looked thoughtful. “I suppose I must offer sufficient incentive for you to stay, then.” 

As if the shock of it removed you from the situation, you noted it dispassionately as he parted you a little more, nestled his nose against your clit, and thrust his stiffened tongue up inside of your heat. 

And then the moment of observation passed. You were thrown back into your body just in time for it to go through an earth-shattering orgasm. Your body arced up off the desk again, muscles spasming so hard that you had the vague sense of Silco holding your hips against the surface so you didn’t throw yourself onto the floor. 

But that was a dim knowledge, far in the background of your thoughts - the vast majority of your brain was caught in a stranglehold of pleasure. How could you be expected to lay still when every bit of you was crackling with such intense energy? You had to move. It was not possible to do anything else. 

At last, Silco removed the live current that was his mouth against your core. He had to struggle against the grip you had on his hair. You weren’t really trying to keep him in place, but your muscles had locked down in the aftermath of your orgasm. 

“How do you feel?” he asked conversationally, when he had freed himself from your grip, losing a few strands of hair in the process. 

“Nnn umm…” Nope, those weren’t words. You tried again. “Needum mint.” 

“Take your time,” Silco invited, relaxing back into his chair. He licked his lips, cleaning the shine of you from them with his tongue. Watching the process made your uncomfortably sensitive body tighten, but you couldn’t tear your gaze away. When he had licked everything he could reach, Silco retrieved a handkerchief and wiped his mouth, chin, and cheeks. 

If you were capable of higher thought at the moment, you might have been embarrassed by how much of a mess you had made on Silco’s face. Fortunately, the brain fog was still too dense, and you just watched him vacantly. 

Rather than rush you into another round, Silco snagged a piece of paper from beside your hip. He lifted it and started to read. From the light that filtered through it from the window behind him, you could see that there were schematics of some kind drawn on the page. They were highly detailed, but something about the writing looked young, like it had been done by someone without fully developed fine motor function. 

And then Silco’s fingers wrapped around your ankle and you stopped thinking about anything else. Especially when those fingers began to play idly against your skin, tapping an unfamiliar rhythm on your anklebone. 

“How much more reading do you need to do?” you gritted out at last. 

Silco glanced up at you instantly, eyebrows raised. “I can stop at any time, pet. I was under the impression that you needed a moment to recover.”

“I have recovered.”

“Why did you not tell me immediately?” Silco asked. 

Despite the censurious words, he lazily tucked the schematics into a desk drawer before he stood. In a moment, he had opened the front of his trousers, pushed aside the layers of fabric, and lined himself up with you. 

There was something almost sweet about the fact that Silco was so hard. He had brought you pleasure without being touched in return, and yet his erection hadn’t flagged while he sat quietly reading for minutes. For all that he was a selfish, manipulative bastard, Silco was surprisingly impacted by the way he affected you. 

Any hints of altruism were shoved aside as Silco plunged inside of you. Rather than hesitating or asking if you were ready, he surged powerfully forward until he was seated as deep inside you as he could be. Your hips shifted to accommodate him and your legs trembled against the arms of his chair as you struggled to surface against the pressure of him stretching your walls. 

Silco’s hands were tight on you. One was wrapped around your hips, providing an anchor point as he began to thrust in and out of you. His other hand was firmly on your ass, half-lifting and half-squeezing as he rolled his hips against you. 

That rolling motion made your lips part for air as you stared up at the ceiling. Silco was big enough to fill you, but something about that motion put pressure against your walls in a way that felt almost cyclical. It was like he was fucking a little circle inside of you every time he pushed in, which meant that you got intermittent pressure against your g-spot. It was magical. 

You tried to lift against him, to counter-thrust and speed things up, but Silco wasn’t having it. His grip was firm enough to hold you utterly still, making sure that all you could do was experience the way he was taking you apart for a second time. 

“Silco, please,” you gasped out. “Faster. Harder. Please.” 

“No,” he denied simply. Silco’s hand momentarily released your hip to grab your wrist instead. He tugged it downward until your fingers were brushing the throbbing place between your legs. “If you want your pleasure, you’ll have to take it.” 

You were tempted to deny him and yourself, if only to prove that he wasn’t in charge of you, but the slight graze of your fingertip over your own clit made you squirm. But if you were going to be responsible for your own orgasm, you were damn well going to make sure that Silco helped.

With some effort, you lifted your legs from where they were still resting on the armrests of Silco’s chair. It took only a moment to wrap them around his waist, and when you tightened them, the pull was strong enough to force Silco forward against you. 

When he had bottomed out inside of you, Silco’s grip shifted upward, pressing against the surface of the desk on either side of your hips to support the shift in his center of balance. His eyes widened, startled as you kept him close. You used your newfound freedom to thrust your hips, moving him and out of your core as you strummed at your clit. 

The resulting sensations were enough to take you sailing over the edge again. This orgasm was less abrupt than the last one, but almost more satisfying because your inner muscles had something to lock down around. 

Dimly, you registered that Silco was trying to withdraw from you, but couldn’t escape the grip of your leg muscles. You only understood his reasoning when his body stiffened, face tightening and growing slack as he reached his own peak. 

Silco’s orgasms tended to be subtler than yours, but even his legendary poker face failed him. His expression tightened, then went slack as his body spasmed in a series of explosive surges. He hissed out a curse that sounded like half a prayer, his lips continuing to move long after he had stopped speaking loud enough for you to hear it. 

Slowly, you let the tension seep from your leg muscles. When your feet were dangling toward the floor once more, Silco eased himself out of you. The first spill of your combined mess seeped directly onto the surface of Silco’s desk, but he cleaned it up and caught the next with the same cloth he had used to wipe his face earlier. 

When Silco was seated in his chair once more, you took the cloth and held it in place as you slid down from the desk. Silco smiled wryly. “I never intend to make such a mess, but you are irresistible. Especially when you’ve wrapped me in those lovely legs. If I must be trapped, I will say that I prefer to be trapped in your embrace.” 

“Flatterer,” you accused gently. 

“It is a lovely benefit when the truth is flattering,” he replied, giving you a look you didn’t quite understand… until he added, “Now, pet, tell me how much I should write for the amount of my next donation check.”

You turned toward him with an irritated huff. “Are you still talking about this? I don’t need an extra donation from you, especially not when your motivation is simply to outdo someone you consider a threat.” 

Silco’s lip curled. “I hardly consider those two boys to be a threat.” 

“Then what is your problem with them supporting the Haven?” 

“I dislike the idea of Piltover gaining a foothold here in Zaun,” Silco explained after a moment of thought. “Even if their influence is only over a small outreach. It could hinder the growth of Zaun’s independence.” 

You bit back the irritation that rose at the Haven being referred to as a small outreach. It was a small outreach, of course, but it was so important in your life. It hurt to be reminded that your work was considered minor to other people. 

“Fine,” you said instead of telling him any of that. “What are our options? I’m not telling you how much they donated.”

“Very well,” Silco said tightly. By all appearances, he was displeased with your insistence, but something about the look in his mismatched gaze gave you the distinct impression that he was getting something he had been angling for all day. “If you will not allow me to match HexTech’s donation amount, I would be willing to overlook their involvement in the Haven…” 

“And what will it cost me?”

“I want to be part of the Undercity Innovation Committee.”

It took a beat for you to remember what that was. “Jazper’s group? No. Absolutely not.” 

Silco watched you in silence. His brow creased and it was like watching a far-away storm building into something catastrophic. 

“I have no control over that,” you expanded. “I can’t risk everything I’ve built - I can’t risk the Haven - to argue for you being part of the meetings.” 

“And I would never ask you to,” Silco assured you smoothly. “I have other resources at play. All I need from you is not to argue against me being on the committee.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “So you don’t need me to fight for you? Just don’t tell them not to let you join?” 

“Yes.” 

It seemed simple. Almost too simple. And yet… it had been a long day. You could use some simplicity. “Fine, I agree to those terms. If someone else brings up the possibility of letting you join the committee, I won’t argue against it.” 

“Perfect.” Silco took the end of your conversation as an opportunity to refasten his clothing, so you started to get dressed as well. 

By the time you had finished, Silco was holding out a slip of paper toward you. You looked from it to his face, unwilling to accept an unknown item from him. He continued to offer it anyway.

“If I understand, your objections were not to me making a donation, but to me trying to make a larger donation than HexTech,” Silco explained. “I do not know how much they donated, but here is my offer.” 

“Silco…” you lamented, arms still folded across your chest. 

He lifted a brow. “If you prefer, I could resume trying to discover the HexTech donation amount…” 

You sighed loudly so there could be no mistaking your irritation as you snatched the check from his hand. You didn’t look at the amount, but the way Silco grinned as you shoved it into your pocket didn’t seem promising.

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Author's Note - Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed. I'll see you next month with another update!

Quick reminder: this story does take a lot of time and effort to write, edit, and format every month. At this point, we're up to roughly a 200-page book. I appreciate the likes that you guys give me, but reblogging my work is the only way new people can find it. I would really appreciate it if you would reblog not only my fics, but any fics you enjoy!