#you have to be me to truly understand it all in a way that doesn’t make me sound like an 11 y/o om amino in 2018

[whoreforsexymen]

Guess who just finished acrane and is writing this with actual tears on my face!!! I need some Vander fluff- i think i will emplode- it doesnt even have to be anything specific i just need comfort after that shit storm 😭

Yes my child. Mommy will make good on your request.

And don’t even get me started on S2. I can’t bring myself to watch it yet. I’m still not even over S1 and I KNOW for a fact it’s not even as sad as I’ve learned S2 is.

But shhhhh, Mommy’s got you. Here’s the fluff you asked for.

Piltover’s Got Nothin’ On You | Vander Fluff Flash 🍺🤎

(GIF cred: me <3)

Pairings: Vander x GN!Reader

Pronouns: No pronouns used.

Rating: Slight NSFW because Reader and Vander are presumably half naked in bed, so 18+!! MDNI !! You WILL be blocked

Word Count: 524

Summary: Vander is enjoying a nice cozy morning with you, and reminds you exactly how he feels.

Tags: A little spicy, just because it’s a little maturely themed if you whip out a magnifying glass, Fluff, Tooth Rotting Fluff, Domesticity W/ Vander, OoeyGooeyRomance

Notes: None, just enjoy. Take a breather. 🤍

“Would I lie to you?” The question hung in the air, light yet loaded with meaning. It was enough to send a familiar flutter through your stomach, a soft, nervous twinge that made your heart skip. The sensation was strangely uncomfortable, yet in the most endearing way—like a gentle reminder of how much he could still make you feel, even in the simplest of moments.

You lay atop the man you were speaking to, both of you bare-chested, the warmth of your skin pressing together in an effortlessly comforting way. The coolness of the morning air was a distant contrast to the heat between you, a calm presence that made the moment feel serene to say the least. His steady breathing beneath you gave the moment a gentle rhythm, and for a while, there was nothing but the simple unspoken connection between you both before you responded.

“Maybe. Depends.” You tease, your words playful but laced with a hint of mischief.

His response is immediate—his large hand slipping into yours with a quiet sense of contentment, the warmth of his grip grounding you. There’s a comfort in the way he holds you, as if, in this moment, the world outside doesn’t matter. His touch speaks volumes, the unspoken understanding between you both more powerful than anything words could convey.

“Someone clearly thinks highly of me,” he teases back, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. Before you can answer, he leans down and places a soft, lingering kiss on your forehead, his touch tender and full of quiet affection. The sweetness of the gesture catches you off guard, a simple act that somehow feels like the most genuine expression of his feelings—a quiet reminder of how deeply he cares.

You smile, a soft laugh slipping from your lips.

“All I was saying is that, as much as Piltover has its minor flaws—“ you begin, your voice light with amusement as you’re stopped short.

“Appalling flaws, really. Humongous, towering flaws,” he interrupts playfully, his tone teasing as he presses a gentle kiss to the back of your hand, still held firmly in his.

You can’t help but laugh at his wit.

“Yes, huge, appalling flaws. But despite all that, Topside is stunning at night. The lights here are beautiful, too, but nothing compares to the glow of Piltover.” You add, trying to make your point clear: a city’s beauty can stand on its own, no matter what darkness might lurk behind the scenes.

He regards you for a long while, his gaze lingering on your face with an amusement that never quite fades. The seconds stretch on, almost too long—what might seem like a few moments in the world’s rhythm becomes an eternity in his eyes. Each shift in your expression, each subtle change in your posture, draws him in, holding his attention as if time itself has slowed. And yet, even as eternity unfolds, it’s still not enough. To him, no amount of time could ever truly capture all he wants to see.

“That may be true,” he says, his voice steady, the smirk never quite leaving his face.

“But Piltover’s got nothin’ on you.”

[littlespoonevan]

Would love to hear more about the Miss Congeniality Au!

ahhh miss congeniality au, my beloved!!!! 💖💗💞💕🩷❤️ truly, truly, truly i feel like this au could be so much FUN if i could find the discipline and motivation to just sit down and write it lmao. but i will say i v much enjoyed fitting all the pieces together for this snippet so here's hoping it awakens something in me askdjhf

i hope you like it 🥰

~

Eddie never imagined becoming a special agent. Then again, he never imagined becoming a single dad either.

But FBI work actually keeps him chained to a desk a hell of a lot more than regular police work used to and the pay’s better.

He’s regretting that decision right about now.

“Eddie, it has to be you.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, quickening his step even as Chimney continues to keep pace with him.

“It absolutely doesn’t, Chim.”

“The whole office agrees-“

Eddie stops short, whirling around. “Just because the little simulation version of me you drew up on the computer had an eight-pack-“

“My computer does not lie, Diaz-“

“I don’t have time,” Eddie cuts in. “I can’t be away from Chris that long.”

“It’s one week. Less, if you do your job right.”

Eddie makes a face.

It’s the stupidest thing he’s ever heard. A charity firefighter competition that he really thinks sounds a hell of a lot like a beauty pageant. Sure, there’s obstacle courses and stuff to complete but he’s not sure what a speedo competition has to do with being a competent firefighter. The cause is noble, he guesses, but there has to be a better way to raise money than deciding who’s the most specialist firefighter in all of Los Angeles.

Especially when the host – Captain Bobby Nash – is the target of a bomb threat.

It wouldn’t even have landed on their desk if not for the fact that three people with ties to Bobby Nash and the LAFD had received bombs in the mail over the last two weeks.

Athena thinks their best chance to take down the mail bomber is to have someone on the inside, to infiltrate the competition and investigate the contestants while also being the FBI’s eyes and ears throughout the week.

Hen and Chim, of course, volunteered Eddie for the job.

“I don’t like undercover work.” It’s an oversimplified version of the truth – that Eddie hates having to perform for an extended period of time and that this competition sounds like his own personal version of hell. Also, as much as he knows he’s in good shape, he doesn’t actually want people ogling his body for a week straight.

Chim gives him an incredibly unsympathetic clap on the shoulder. “Just use those big, brown eyes of yours and wow the judges with your salsa skills and no one will be any the wiser.”

Eddie opens his mouth to argue back when another voice cuts through their conversation.

“She said yes!”

He and Chimney both look up to find Hen running towards them, a beaming grin on her face. “Athena said yes! Better start practicing your poses, Firefighter Diaz.”

Well, shit.

-

Captain Bobby Nash has got a made-for-TV smile that has Eddie understanding why he got the hosting gig over every other fire captain in LA.

“Special Agent Grant,” he says, shaking Athena’s hand with a warmth to his expression that Eddie doesn’t expect.

Athena clearly doesn’t expect it either because she clears her throat as she pulls her hand back. “Captain Nash. This is Agent Diaz.”

Nash redirects his attention to Eddie, extending his hand once again. “Great to meet you. And please, call me Bobby.”

“You too,” Eddie says, flashing a polite smile and following Athena’s lead to take a seat in front of Bobby’s desk.

“So I take it there’s been some progress in the case?” Bobby asks, settling into his chair.

Athena purses her lips, exchanging a look with Eddie. “Not as much as we’d like. Given that we still don’t have a trace on the letter the bomber sent and the LAFD’s reluctance to cancel the competition, we’ve decided to send one of our agents in undercover.”

Bobby’s eyes immediately flick to Eddie and Eddie feels the ridiculous urge to straighten his posture. “I’m guessing that’s where you come in, Agent Diaz?”

“Not that we want to undermine the integrity of the competition but it will be imperative that Eddie makes it to the final,” Athena says. “It’s the best chance we have of catching the bomber if we can’t determine a suspect before then.”

Bobby leans back in his chair, regarding them both with an unreadable expression. Finally, he cracks a smile. “Well, he certainly looks the part.”

“He gets that a lot,” Athena snorts and Eddie ducks his head to hide the heat in his cheeks. It’s bad enough when it’s Hen and Chim ribbing him; he didn’t actually think Athena ever overheard them.

“Which firehouse is he representing though?” Bobby asks. “All of the contestants have already been chosen.”

Without missing a beat, Athena hands over a file that Eddie knows contains the fake details of his new identity. “Apparently the 133’s entry came down with an awful bout of food poisoning.”

Bobby accepts the manila folder with a faint smirk. “Well, that’s a shame.”

-

“Diaz. Diaz, do you read me? Over.”

Eddie rolls his eyes as he steps onto the bus ready to ship the contestants to the opening luncheon. “Yes, Chim,” he mutters under his breath. “I can hear you; stop yelling.”

“Remember to smile, Eddie.” That’s Hen.

How Athena thought they were the two best suited to oversee this, he’ll never understand.

He scans the length of the bus, looking for an empty seat. The whole place is overrun with burly men in too tight t-shirts talking animatedly to each other. It takes him a second to realise one of the men in question is waving at him.

He’s got curly hair and a golden retriever-esque eagerness to his smile. “Edmundo?” he asks. “From the 133, right?”

Eddie clears his throat and rearranges his face into a smile as he makes his way to the empty seat. Though calling it an empty seat feels generous when the firefighter all but shoves himself against the window to make room.

“How’d you know who I was?” he asks, genuinely curious. They only finalised the details of Eddie’s position in the competition yesterday and they made sure to leave any of his information off the official competition website.

“Oh I did a little deep dive on the other contestants but you were the only one who didn’t have a picture so I figured it had to be you.” He shrugs with an affable charm before offering Eddie a hand. “I’m Evan Buckley, with the 118. Everyone calls me Buck though.”

“He’s cute,” Hen says in his ear.

“Like a puppy,” Chim adds.

Eddie ignores them and shakes his hand. “Uh, you can call me Eddie,” he greets. Changing his last name was necessary; he refuses to go by Edmundo for the next week. It’s only then that he clocks the station number Buck said. “You’re part of Nash’s team.”

“Yeah,” Buck says, beaming with pride. “Bobby’s the best captain ever. You know some of these guys have it out for me because they think he’s gonna play favourites even though he’s not a judge. He’s just the host. But whatever, it’s not a big deal.”

The dejected look that creeps onto Buck’s face suggests it very much is a big deal even if he won’t admit it. Eddie feels a pang of sympathy. The guy seems harmless, even with all the rippling muscles. Then again, he’s not surprised a competition this testosterone-fuelled has people acting territorial.

“They just want an excuse for when you beat them in the first round,” Eddie says, mostly to fill the silence but also to get this Buck guy to stop looking so downtrodden.

He definitely doesn’t expect the way Buck’s whole face lights up in awe.

“You think I’ve got a shot at making it to the finals?”

The earnest hopefulness in Buck’s voice catches Eddie off guard and Hen and Chimney in his ear don’t help.

“Aww Eddie’s making friends!”

“Forget friends! Eddie, he’s cute; keep flirting with him.”

Eddie bites down on the urge to tell them to fuck off and makes himself smile at Buck instead. “’Course you do. Some of these guys are lucky they even made it this far.”

Truthfully, Eddie hasn’t even taken the time to look at anyone else on the bus all that much yet but the words tumble out of his mouth without permission. And in the face of Buck’s delighted grin, he can’t find it in himself to take them back.

“Thanks, man,” Buck says bashfully. “Hey, you have anyone to share a room with at the hotel yet?”

“Please tell me there’s only gonna be one bed,” Hen squawks gleefully in his ear.

“Uh I don’t know. Are they assigned or-?”

“They figured since most of us know each other we could pair up however we want but- um…” Buck trails off, making it clear no one has offered to share with him and well, it seems like he knows a lot about the other contestants. That could be good for Eddie. To get information and close the case. Obviously.

“Yeah, man. We can share.”

“Awesome!” Buck declares, slumping more comfortably in his seat and bumping his shoulder –probably accidentally – against Eddie’s. The bus gets moving then and Eddie takes the opportunity to scope out some of the other contestants.

It’s unlikely their suspect is another firefighter but not impossible.

“So how come I’ve never seen you at a scene before?”

Eddie blinks, redirecting his attention to Buck who’s looking at him curiously.

“Oh uh, I just transferred in the last couple of months.”

“From where?” Buck’s expression doesn’t look suspicious and Eddie has to remind himself not every conversation with a stranger needs to be an interrogation.

“Um, El Paso,” he says, immediately cringing on the inside. This man does not need to know any of his real life personal details.

But Buck only smiles again. “Cool. I’ll have to look out for you on calls from now on.”

And it’s not said flirtatiously or anything like that but Buck looks bashful again and Chimney is cackling his ear about how, “Eddie’s got a fan,” and Eddie’s stomach does a strange, traitorous flip.

But this is fine.

Everything is fine.

It’s just-

It’s going to be a long week.

-

[tinytinyblogs]

Do it again, and things will get ugly.

Yandere skz not pleased with your little habit—make sure you understand that.

Hyung line, Maknae line

Stray Kids Masterlist 1.0 & 2.0

Your insights and reactions make these posts come alive. Love reblogs, comments, and all the good vibes welcome ✨

Han

You’re completely immersed in your book, the world around you fading as you turn the pages. Reading is your favorite escape, a quiet comfort that brings you peace. But just as you’re sinking deeper into the story, a hand suddenly snatches the book out of your grasp. You blink, startled, realizing that Han is standing in front of you. Without warning, he hurls the book across the room with a force that sends it crashing against the wall, the loud thud jolting you out of your peaceful reverie. The book lands on the floor, pages crumpled, and for a moment, you’re too stunned to speak. “Have you even noticed I’ve been here this whole time?” His voice cuts through the silence, filled with a sharp edge of anger that makes your heart skip a beat. “Are those stupid words more interesting to you than me?” There’s frustration in his tone, but there’s something else too—a raw vulnerability, as if he’s trying to mask his own insecurities with anger. You look up at him, seeing the mixture of hurt and irritation in his eyes. It’s more than just frustration; it’s a deep-seated insecurity that rears its head every time you lose yourself in your hobbies.

He hates the way your books seem to draw you away, making him feel like an outsider, as if he’s competing with words on a page for your attention. And no matter how much he tries to ignore it, it eats at him, making him question how much you truly care. He lets out a harsh breath, running a hand through his hair as if trying to steady himself. “Do you even care that I’m here?” he demands, his voice breaking slightly. “Or am I just supposed to sit around, watching you get lost in your own world, feeling like I don’t even exist to you?” His words hang in the air, heavy and filled with an ache he can’t fully hide. You open your mouth to respond, but he continues, the frustration spilling over. “Maybe I should just burn all those books—would that finally get your attention? Make you look at me, instead of always burying yourself in them?” There’s a desperation in his voice now, a vulnerability that’s almost painful to witness, as if he’s baring a part of himself he doesn’t want you to see. For him, it’s not just about the books or your hobbies—it’s about the fear that maybe he’s not enough to hold your attention, that he’ll never mean as much to you as those stories do.

And as he stands there, waiting for you to say something, you can see how much this truly bothers him, how much he longs for reassurance that he’s not invisible to you. "If you want to keep those books, you'd better not get too lost in them," he says, his voice low and firm, each word measured and carrying an unmistakable warning. He steps closer, his gaze never leaving yours, trapping you between his arms as he braces himself on either side of you. The intensity in his eyes pins you in place, leaving you feeling cornered, as if there’s nowhere to escape his scrutiny. "I don’t like it when you ignore me," he continues, his tone tinged with a simmering frustration. His eyes are dark and unwavering, searching yours as if demanding an answer, needing to know that you understand what he’s saying. There’s a raw, almost possessive edge in his voice, a silent insistence that you remember he’s here—that he’s the one who should have your attention. He leans in slightly, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath, his presence consuming the space between you. “Make sure you’ve got that in your mind,” he says, his voice soft yet laced with a hint of a warning, as if he’s daring you to look away or challenge him.

Felix

Felix’s grip on his glass tightens so much that his knuckles turn a stark white against the dark wood of the bar. He watches you, his gaze unwavering, stormy, his jaw set hard as if biting back words he doesn't want to say. Every so often, he brings his drink to his lips, taking a slow, controlled sip, but his eyes never leave you. His attention is riveted on you, locked onto the way you throw your head back with laughter, the way you lean in, smiling, as you engage with the people around you. He’s watching every detail, every casual brush of your hand, every animated gesture, every sparkling smile you offer to those sitting beside you. The laughter surrounding you fills the space like a bright, airy melody, but in Felix’s mind, it’s a sound that grates on his nerves, reminding him of something he hates to admit, something he can’t help but resent. He watches you throw yourself into every conversation with that effortless charm of yours, capturing everyone’s attention without even trying. It's something he’s never understood about you—the way you seem drawn to the energy and approval of others, the way you seem to thrive under their gaze.

And you do it all so naturally, like it’s second nature to you, as if it’s simply who you are. But the thought gnaws at him, unsettling him in a way he can’t control. Why do you care so much about what they think? He wonders why his own presence, his own attention, doesn’t seem to be enough for you. Isn’t that all you need? He’s always been there, always the one standing closest to you, watching you, knowing all the little things that make you laugh, the ways your eyes light up, the little gestures you make when you’re deep in conversation. But as much as he knows you, as much as he feels connected to you, this part of you—the part that shines for everyone—remains just beyond his grasp. As soon as the two of you were alone, he grabbed your arm and dragged you back to his place, his grip firm and unrelenting. The door slammed shut behind you, echoing through the room and leaving a tension that was thick and unsettling. His sudden change in demeanor left you feeling uneasy, a knot forming in the pit of your stomach. He fixed you with a cold, penetrating stare, his gaze so intense it felt like it was stripping away every layer of defense you had.

"Is it fun getting their attention?" he asked, his voice low and laced with a quiet rage that made his words all the more frightening. The question hung in the air, his deep voice dripping with accusation, making it feel like he could shatter you with just a look. "Is it fun to bask in anyone else's attention but mine? Because from where I’m standing," he continued, his eyes never leaving yours, "it doesn’t look like there’s anything ‘good’ in you having me but acting like you’re so starved for attention that you have to seek it from anyone else, like some lonely soul without a lover." He took a few slow, deliberate steps toward you, each one calculated, closing the distance between you as his towering frame loomed over you. The intensity in his eyes didn’t waver, and you could feel the weight of his words pressing down on you, making it hard to breathe. "This is my warning," he murmured, his voice chilling and measured. "Consider yourself lucky. If I find out you pull something like that again, I’ll make sure you never have the chance to grab anyone’s attention. Ever again." The promise was dark and unmistakable, sending a shiver through you as his gaze held you firmly in place, every word he said echoing in your mind.

Seungmin

It felt profoundly unfair to Seungmin when you didn’t show any gratitude for all the effort he poured into everything he did for you. Every small gesture, every thoughtful act, meant the world to him, yet your indifference stung deeply. He couldn't shake off the frustration that churned within him, particularly when he sensed your ignorance of all his hard work. As you simply nodded at the dessert he had painstakingly learned to make once he discovered it was your favorite, he felt a flicker of anger ignite inside him. The spoon he held felt like a fragile thing in his grip, and he squeezed it tightly, his knuckles turning white as he struggled to contain his emotions. Moments later, unable to bear it any longer, he slammed the spoon onto the table with a sharp clatter that broke the silence, the sound reverberating in the air like a sudden thunderclap. He stood up abruptly, the movement sending a ripple of shock through the room, and began to circle the dining table, his frustration palpable with each stride he took toward you.

He stopped directly in front of you, his expression a mix of hurt and exasperation. “Do you even realize how much I put into this?” he demanded, his voice low but charged with emotion. “I wanted to do something special for you, and all you can do is nod?” The tension between you crackled, and he could feel his heart racing, caught between his desire to express his feelings and the hurt that came from your apparent indifference. His hand trembled with barely contained anger as he faced you, the tension in the air thickening with each passing moment. “All the things I do for you...” he began, his voice strained, carrying the weight of his frustration. He stopped for a moment, closing his eyes as he took a deep breath, trying to rein in the whirlwind of emotions that threatened to spill over. He needed to calm himself, to gather his thoughts before he let his anger get the best of him. “All the things!” he continued, his voice rising slightly as he struggled to keep his composure. “Can’t you at least say a damn thank you?” The plea hung in the air, echoing with a mix of desperation and hurt.

He looked at you, searching for any sign of acknowledgment, any hint that you recognized the effort he poured into every small gesture, every thoughtful act he had done for you. "Eat this. Now." Seungmin’s voice was low but laced with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. His eyes held a stern, unyielding gaze, the kind that left no room for argument. He leaned in closer, his tone taking on a dangerous edge as he spoke, "And from now on, you’re going to be more aware, more grateful for every single damn thing I do for you. Understand?" He held out the spoon firmly, his grip tightening as if daring you to defy him. The way he looked at you made it clear that he expected nothing less than compliance. His expression was a mixture of frustration and something else, something deeper, that sent a chill down your spine. "You wouldn’t want to see me mad again, would you?" he added, his voice dropping to a quiet but potent warning. The threat lingered in the air, a reminder of the weight his anger carried, and his gaze bore into you, making it clear that he expected you to listen.

Jeongin

He gets visibly frustrated whenever he sees you stumble or drop something, his eyes always drawn to your every clumsy move, each one stirring his concern. Ironically, he’s just as prone to accidents himself; he knows firsthand how easy it is to get hurt in a split second. Perhaps that’s exactly why his frustration with you grows—it’s not just annoyance but genuine worry because he knows just how much a small misstep can lead to something serious, as he's experienced so many times himself. To keep you safe, he’s become hyper-vigilant, watching over you more closely than you might like. He practically has eyes in the back of his head, always noticing when you’re about to trip or reach for something potentially hazardous. Sometimes, his protectiveness feels almost smothering; he keeps such a close watch that you feel he’s always in the room with you, guiding your every movement, as if trying to control every factor around you. Even when he’s not physically present, you’ll receive a flurry of messages, checking in on what you’re doing and reminding you to be cautious.

Just as your fingers hover over the knife handle, his hand darts out, intercepting you with a firm grasp. “How many times have I told you not to cook by yourself?” he says sharply, his tone tinged with impatience and a protectiveness that feels like it’s crossed the line into control. His gaze is unwavering, locked onto you with an intensity that leaves no room for argument. You let out a sigh, a flicker of frustration and defiance slipping into your voice as you answer, “But I want to. I can handle it. I’m not as helpless as you think.” His expression doesn’t soften for a moment. If anything, your words only seem to harden his resolve. “Just because you want to,” he begins, his voice a low, steady warning, “you think that means I’m going to stand by and let you mess with something that could hurt you?” His eyes flash with an almost parental authority, a refusal to back down. “That’s not how this works.” With a purposeful motion, he nudges the knife away from your reach with the toe of his shoe, making his stance clear.

“If I say no, it’s no,” he states firmly, his voice carrying an edge that’s impossible to ignore. He grips your wrist with a sudden, unyielding force, his fingers pressing into your skin hard enough to make you wince. The pressure is intense, almost as if he wants to leave a lasting mark, a reminder of his control. His gaze is sharp, locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your stomach churn. “Understand?” he asks, his voice low and clipped, each word carrying a weight that makes his intentions unmistakably clear. “You’re going to do exactly what I tell you,” he continues, his voice tightening. “If I ever catch you doing something I told you not to…” He pauses, allowing the silence to hang between you, thick and charged. His eyes hold yours, unblinking, dark with a fierce resolve that sends a chill down your spine. “I’ll make sure you learn to obey me.” The words linger in the air, a promise and a threat, making it clear that he won’t tolerate any disobedience. His grip remains firm, unyielding, almost daring you to defy him as he lets the message settle in, making sure you know exactly what he expects from you.

[nordickies]

SuNor Royalty AU prompt Relationship: Sweden/Norway Characters: Norway (Sigurd), Sweden (Björn), Denmark (Magnus) I had a small oneshot exchange/exercise with @pvffinsdaisies and @ifindus and I feel brave enough to share my oneshot writings for the first time. We were feeling nostalgic and decided to roll some nostalgic AU prompts with a wheel. Mine landed on "Fake Dating" and "Royalty". I just had to go with Norway and Sweden, of course! We also randomized some dialogue prompts, as well and I got: #23 - “You’re doing the right thing.” ; “Then why does it feel so wrong to me?”

Something different this time, enjoy!

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

“You’re doing the right thing.”

The giant man sitting by the desk didn’t react to Magnus’ comment. He kept his eyes firmly on the glass his freckled friend had poured him just moments earlier. Watching the earthy-toned beverage sit still in the crystal snifter as if it could answer all the questions running through his mind. Something about the liquid’s stillness helped him focus — a small reminder that the world wasn’t boiling over, even if it felt like it.

Without raising his glance from the glass, the ashy-haired man pondered out loud, “Then why does it feel so wrong to me?”

Magnus, sitting right next to him on the velvet couch, looked up to the ornamented ceiling, breathing out with a heavy sigh. He was trying to find words to describe the predicament they found themselves in. Uncharacteristically for him, he didn’t feel like mocking his younger friend or dismissing his feelings. Things were less than ideal, and Magnus himself had a lot to lose here. But still, he tried to maintain his professionalism. As much as he could sympathize with his friend’s turmoil, he had to be the steady one.

“I think it’s a sign that you care about Sigurd,” he said calmly and leaned his back deeper into the couch. “Which is admirable, I guess. Considering everything we’ve been through.”

It was hard to comprehend how the three of them would ever refer to each other as friends. Their friendship, if it could even be called that, wasn’t quite built on mutual affection, but on proximity and shared survival. They had grown up tied together by the unrelenting demands of their families. There had been more than enough conflict to go around—bitter rivalries, fractured trust, and old wounds that never truly healed. Yet, in some inexplicable way, they had remained inseparable. Perhaps it was their proximity in age, or constant family cooperation pushing them to spend time together.  Or perhaps it was a bond from heritage, diplomacy, and an unspoken understanding that only those who had known such tension could appreciate.

And it all led to this moment. This outrageous marriage proposal. Björn had never imagined that his future would unfold in this way—not so abruptly, and certainly not under such strained circumstances. The bond he shared with Sigurd, once as natural and easy as breathing, now felt tainted, ruined by the very proposal that should have brought them closer.

It wasn’t that Björn didn’t want marriage. No, that’s what he had dreamed of all his life, of building a future with someone who could share his heart. But he did not expect to marry so soon, and to a person so dear and close to him at that. Björn felt conflicted. This marriage wasn’t driven by romantic love, nor was it born of true necessity. It was a strategy, all at the expense of Sigurd— and Björn knew Sigurd did not want this. He knew that his friend, his brother-in-arms, had no desire to be tied down by a union born out of obligation. And yet here he was, about to be thrust into a situation where his freedom would be stolen from him by the very man who called him his dear friend.

“He doesn’t want marriage” Björn sighed, breaking the brief silence with words so heavy you could barely hear him. He finally raised his eyes from the glass, the weight of everything pressing down on him. He met Magnus’ gaze, and for a fleeting moment, it was as if the younger eyes were pleading—do something!

“What’s done is done.” Magnus' answer was brief, but not at all intended as dismissive. His hands were tied, even his witt and games couldn’t get them out of this situation now. “But consider that Sigurd will be safer with you than with anyone else.”

Perhaps Magnus was right. Björn had doubts Sigurd could maintain his freedom for long regardless if he stepped in or not. These decisions weren’t theirs to make. They weren’t even Sigurd’s to make. The ties that bound them weren’t just between him and his family; they were tied up in expectations, traditions, and even obligations that went far beyond their small circle. 

Sigurd was in a vulnerable position here, his family’s heyday long gone. His family, once known for their power and prestige, had long been reduced to shadows of their former selves. The house they once owned, grand and full of life, now stood silent, its halls crumbling and burying a history of glory that felt like a distant dream now. The marriage proposal had come as a last-ditch effort to pull them from the gutter.

The decision was not easy, nor something they thought would come so soon. But in the last attempt to upkeep their relevance and have some sort of hope for their heritage, they offered their heir to a longstanding ally. Perhaps accepting the proposal was Björn’s family’s attempt to uplift their image, which had been shattered after the last conflict, turning them unpopular in people’s eyes. His family was convinced Sigurd’s integrity was supposed to conceal the tarnish in Björn’s name. 

The troubled prince understood the stakes. This union, fraught with problems, was not just about their personal wishes. It was about preserving something far greater. It was a lifeline for them. But recognizing that still didn’t make the mental anguish any less painful.

Björn snapped out of his thoughts, his mind drifting back to the present as he noticed Magnus slowly pulling himself up to sit straight. The Dane cleared his throat, “A piece of advice, if I may?”

“...For this one time, I’ll allow it.”

“Marriage is just a piece of paper,” he said with a mentor-like warmth to his voice. “No one is going to control how you and Sigurd go about things. As long as you two handle your responsibilities, it’s enough.”

Björn raised his brow, but Magnus continued, “You’re marrying your best friend after all. Sounds better than marrying a stranger, no?”

Magnus didn’t get an answer to his comment—just an empty gaze from his friend. The silence hung thick between them. Though Björn’s face remained stoic, his eyes betrayed him. Conveying a clear unease, which he let out as a grouch. 

"He will hate me."

[eerna]

Hiii I have some thought contributions to the Arcane symposium if you'll have me!

I see people understandably angry at how Arcane handles who is or isn’t a villain and I suppose my two cents is that I didn’t have any hope of them handling it right in the first place, even back in s1 there were always parallels made, always some “both cities have good and bad” nuance when one city doesn’t have air to breathe and is colonized by the other. If anything the beginning of s2 was more consistent in that the second Caitlyn is personally inconvenienced she goes full chemical warfare and mass institutional violence

Personally I thought it unlikely that they suddenly change narrative tones and resolve the plot in a way that was satisfying to me, and I knew the pacifist “choose love not hate <3 zaun and piltover arms in arms” both-sides ending was inevitable, so I’m glad they at least had that whole thing with Viktor and Jayce and the timelines to distract me from it

“they shouldn’t have made Viktor, a Zaunite, the villain” but Arcane always made the villain a Zaunite! Before Viktor there was Silco, Piltover chooses peace but Jinx blows the council up and now they have to do a whole “look what you made us do” arc. This was my beef with Arcane from day 1 (it wasn't emphasized enough, IMO, that the villain is Piltover's oppression and marginalization of Zaun, and that this context renders null any "both cities" comparison)

Also Vi was written so poorly this season what's up with that

All that being said I suppose it’s more complicated to discern “writer’s intent” from that kinda show than it would be in a book or an indie project where there are fewer people involved in the plot writing and less interference. Like one deleted scene or one line of dialogue omitted radically changes the message. But well, there's the intended message and there's the manifest message and as the audience we are allowed to criticize both

Of course we shall, step to the podium~ Truly, the "writer's intent" is truly so complicated here, because anti-capitalist messaging in mainstream art powered by capitalism is always a nightmare to get through.

Oh yes it's a good take, I remember the discussions from s1 era well! However, I still don't think the "both sides have good and bad" thing is a red flag in stories, simply because it's true IRL. A ton of people have trouble committing to a side in a conflict because neither is totally morally pure, which completely blinds them to the truth that NOTHING is morally pure and choosing the lesser evil is the way to go. Silco was a brilliant villain to me because he was an oppressor himself, as people in power are rarely anything else, but that didn't mean that Zaunite ideals were worth any less! After all, Ekko held the same anti-Piltover ideals, but he is morally pure and thus unable to become an influential politician. He can support a small society, but not a large one, because no one really can do that without resorting to some bad shit. Just because Silco dreamed of being the same as Piltover's elite and became a class traitor by forcing his citizens into another toxic work culture, except this time they made HIM rich instead of Piltover, doesn't mean we should just give up on trying to make things better. Zaun during Silco's reign is just as worthy of freedom and equality as Zaun during Vander's reign. It doesn't matter that there are terrorists living there now - that doesn't excuse Piltover's violent actions. And s1 seemed to be aware of that, considering how the Enforcers were depicted, and in the end it's the Piltover council who are forced to give up instead of the Undercity. And the choice of peace wasn't as morally pure as it sounds: the council opposed it and was forced into it by Jayce and Mel's combined power, even Jayce was resistant to the terms at first, AND it still left the Undercity in Silco's hands, fixing absolutely none of the sins they committed there. It wasn't an evil terrorist blowing up a bunch of hippies, it was a hurt Undercity girl setting in motion an event that has been brewing for a long, long time, against a system which gave too little, too late.

So yeah, in short, I don't interpret s1 as ever trying to question whether Zaun was right to demand more from Piltover by saying "well both sides are bad so nothing should change". It simply showed the ugly truth to any revolution: leaders are practically never good people, and those who get too close to it are doomed to very cursed lives. And yet, giving up isn't an option, because the system IS bad and the system HAS to be changed, and if that isn't gonna happen by the way of peace, then you can't help but sympathize with those who were wronged when they do something horrible.

That's why it only worked when it focused on individual characters - that way you can understand why everyone is acting the way they are acting, and you avoid falling into broad strokes. S2 instead focuses on the aesthetic of revolution and war and the characters get lost in the big picture, which absolutely sucks and completely negates everything I've been typing about here. In fact, who knows, maybe my opinion changes too after I sit with s2 for a while and contextualize s1 within it. Maybe I was just wishfully thinking and misinterpreting this whole time. I already feel like a clown for defending this show, so I can totally accept that I could probably be wrong here. But I just wanted to write it all out in the name of discussion and interpretation!

[httpvomitello]

Hi would it be okay to request a Rottmnt with a female reader who makes pastries or maybe works a some kind of pastry shop 🍰

Hello, hello! Hope you like a it ~ ♡♡♡♡

Pastry Shop *⁠.⁠✧

Shows up to your pastry shop all the time (not when people are inside, of course)

He’s not even subtle about it—he acts like it’s a casual visit, but everyone knows he’s there for you (and maybe for the pastries)

“Oh, hey, Y/N. Fancy meeting you here… at your workplace… again.” Cue his cheeky grin

Always “samples” whatever you’re baking

He’s the type to ask, “Do you need a taste-tester? Because I’m highly qualified.”

Pretends to have sophisticated taste in desserts. “Hmm, the balance of sweetness in this éclair is truly exquisite.”

But really, he’ll eat anything you make

“For me? Your favorite customer? C’mon, don’t act like I’m not your favorite.”

At first, he’s a little shy about coming by

But once he realizes how much you love baking, he’s all in

He always compliments your creations, even if it’s just a simple cupcake. “This is amazing, Y/N. You’re really talented.”

Buys way more pastries than he can eat, just to support you(he started saving money just for that)

His brothers constantly find random boxes of cookies and cakes in the lair

Always offers to help you carry heavy supplies, like bags of flour or crates of ingredients

“No way you’re lifting that on your own. Let me.”

You caught him sneaking one of your pastries into his pocket for later, and now he’s forever known as “the pastry thief.”

Doesn’t understand the appeal of pastries at first

He’s more of a “function over flavor” kind of guy, but he’s fascinated by the science behind baking

Spends a whole afternoon in your kitchen asking questions about how different ingredients work. “Wait, so gluten development affects the structure of bread? Fascinating.”

Invents gadgets to make your life easier, like a faster mixer or a temperature-controlled rolling pin

“With this, you’ll have the most consistent dough in the city!”

You catch him sneaking into your shop late at night to try and reverse-engineer your recipes

When you confront him, he denies everything. “I was… conducting research!”

His favorite thing to order is whatever you made just for him

He insists it’s purely because of your skill, but you know he loves the personal touch.

The biggest hype man for your baking

Every time he tries something you’ve made, it’s “THE BEST THING I’VE EVER TASTED.”

Wants to help in the kitchen but always makes a mess

Flour ends up everywhere, and you have to shoo him out before he burns something

Calls you “his personal pastry chef,” even if you’ve told him a million times that you bake for everyone, not just him

Has a massive sweet tooth and keeps begging you to make custom desserts based on his wild ideas

“Okay, hear me out—pizza-flavored cupcakes!”

Brings your pastries back to the lair and brags to his brothers about how talented you are. “Y/N’s the best baker in the world! You guys are missing out.”

[theriddleskeeponriddling]

Rambling : Riddler : Empathy And Riddler’s View On Relationships

I was speaking with my friend about how my Crowverse version of riddler handles friendships, empathy, disorders, ect. I really enjoyed voicing it there, and now I wish to voice it here so I can look to it for reference and whatever. Thank you @a-sxft-chaotic for helping me by psycho-analyzing my Riddler, Much love to you silly Crane2.0. This post may be updated tomorrow when it’s not late and I can think better. Suggestions to anything mentioned here are welcome

Edward has several disorders. Autism, maybe Ocd, Npd ect. He is already born with lower levels of empathy, but with added traumatic childhood experiences, it has only gotten worse. He rarely had any friends has a child. He was too honest. Blunt. And stood out for not expressing sadness or care like other kids. After elementary school, he never made any more friends.

E (Age 7): “Did you not see the sign?”

(A kid, at an indoor pool, sitting with family and crying from a bad knee scrape after running and slipping on a puddle)

L: “Eddie! Just go and ask if he is okay..”

E: “Why are you mad? I told him there was a no running sign. It’s a pool. I told him, so he can be more aware”

L: “I’m not mad, I understand that Eddie just- It’s his birthday I think he would appreciate people checking in on him.. Not telling him he should look for signs next time”

The first closest sort of friend he makes, is a girl named Destiny. A girl often bullied for being of color, and requiring a wheelchair. She is similar to Hannah in the ways of being very empathetic and supportive, traits that Edward finds foolish but admirable in a way. He doesn’t make much effort to be her friend, giving her schoolwork anytime she is away for surgeries; Lending her books that she sees Ed reading; and whatnot. Destiny views Edward as a close friend, and believes he is nice for his treatment to her and the several times that Edward ‘mysteriously’ got her bullies to back away. (blackmail) He slowly starts to get used to her, but the girl, so morally righteous, finds that Edward bought a laptop using money stolen from his father and tells Mr. Nashton, Unaware that Edward would receive a bad fracture to his leg the following night.. This is the first point in which Edward truly starts finding friendships as an inconvenience.

Riddler calls everyone ‘friend’ even after saying how much he despises every person in the Rogues Gallery. He jokes about not having friends, and always claims it as his biggest strength. He doesn’t have anyone to be used as blackmail, He doesn’t need to worry about anyone other than himself, he doesn’t need to worry about losing anyone.. It sounds easier to him. It is a mix of pushing people away, and being overly egotistical that causes Riddler to have no real friendships. Riddler grew up accidentally appearing rude and emotionless to everyone around him, So now he believes it himself. He believes he doesn’t care for anyone, and refuses to make any real connections or offering genuine kindness. His common response to being asked why he is how he is.. “I have always been like how I am today. I’ve always been the best, so why would I change?”

Jon: You think you are the best thing on this planet. That you’re better than everyone else. You say you are too good for relationships but really Edward, you are just a scared man. You want attention. You love it. But if you care for those giving it to you.. you back away. You don’t want the people you care for to leave you Ed. You are scared of being alone, but you think that because you are so much better than us all, you would rather choose to be alone, than have friends leave you just so that your fate is your own doing and not ours.. What? You think that’s some advantage? Choosing to not have friends? Because all I see, is you screwing yourself over the assumption that nobody could possibly care about you.

Riddler is rude for three reasons.

1) His autism prevents him from understanding why he should change his blunt and honest mannerisms, which appear as insults to anyone who is faced with them.

2) He thinks he is better than everyone else, and as such, his opinions matter more than anyone’s emotions. He has so much pride, that he refuses to change anything about himself for the benefit of others. He also sees that caring for others is a weakness. It means putting emotion over strategy and logic, and in his line of work, there is no room for such a risk. Edward believes that nobody should even like him. That he is so rude and emotionally absent that anyone who cares about him, is foolish and makes no sense.

3) He refuses to keep anyone he cares about close.. Caring for himself alone is easier, and if he thinks everyone will leave him in the end, why risk the relationship at all? He is already well disliked, but if he starts becoming fond of anyone, he starts pushing them away with more negativity in the hope that they will leave him now, instead of leaving him later when he is more attached. Choosing the lesser pain.

Riddler’s sisters, Hannah(2-) and Lydia(6+), are the only two he has consistently cared for. After leaving for Gotham at 18, he cuts ties with them, thinking to reconnect again only once he makes a name for himself.. But when the name happens to be for a well known costume criminal, he further refuses to speak with his sisters. He figures they are safer in their hometown, and it means that he doesn’t have to think or worry about them at all.. When he finds out his older sister Lydia moved to Gotham as an officer, Riddler can’t handle the concern that he has avoided, and begs her to leave so that he can forget about her more and so she isn’t at risk. If she is in danger, Edward knows he would risk himself to help, but because he loves himself so much, he hates the idea that he could ever consider sacrificing himself for anyone else..

This is the end of this Rambling session, for now. I do plan to change the little speech for Jon, I need to flesh his character out more, but other than that, this is pretty much all I have going for Edward.

Edit: This Riddler Is Asexual or Demisexual. That form of relationship hasn’t existed for him. Romance is being thought of story-wise, but hasn’t happened for him at any point before age 27

[wedreamedlove]

[FIC] touch me softly and i'm yours

Rating: Explicit Characters: Osborn/Reader Word Count: 14,138

Summary: He has never asked for or expected anything from the world, he has only wanted to find a small corner he can call home, and you’re fortunate enough to be able to build one with him.

A/N: 20:00 Osborn's 2024 Birthday Relay. Beastmen AU with a black panther Osborn and human reader.

Tick tock. Tick tock.

The manual clock you deliberately hung up on the wall carries out its job diligently, making every second that passes tighten the air until the atmosphere in the underground office is oppressive. You turn the last page of the mission report you’re reading and then toss it onto your desk, the papers scattering haphazardly, before you raise your eyes to look at the man standing in front of you.

“Do you know what you did wrong?”

The man bristles at your question. “They shorted me.”

“So you do know.” You comment lightly. “If the client doesn’t honor their end of the contract, then you report it and leave it to the organization to rectify it. You’re not to take personal action.”

He slams his hands on your desk and leans forward, snarling. “AND LET YOU HUMANS KEEP MAKING DECISIONS FOR US BEASTMEN?”

Your heart rate jolts and then rockets up when you see the man partially transform; wolf fur sprouts down his sideburns, his jaw lengthens to give the illusion of a muzzle, fangs slip out from under his lips, pointed ears appear on the top of his head, and most noticeably his voice gains an inhuman growl that layers his words. However, despite your racing heartbeat, your hands remain steady and your body is relaxed when you meet his animalistic pupils.

It was a mission a couple of years ago, some time after you turned of age, where your grandmother sent you out into the field to meet with an informant and retrieve their report. In her words, if you were to inherit her position and the organization, then you had to experience every aspect of the organization, from administration to fieldwork. Naturally, your grandmother still made sure you would be safe and sent your bodyguard, Osborn, with you.

However, what should have been a simple task rapidly escalated into a dangerous extraction mission when the informant was exposed and captured. You and Osborn spent a week to map out the safehouse where the informant was kept, the schedule of the guards, and confirm an entry and exit route. After everything was in place, all that was left was to execute the plan.

“Scared?” Osborn asked while checking over his equipment with an efficiency that bordered on ruthless.

“No,” you replied as you tried to tighten the straps of your protective vest and failed for the third time.

There was a beat of silence before a pair of callused hands knocked yours aside and corrected the fit of the vest for you. “Here’s a tip, beastmen can hear and smell physiological responses, so there’s no hiding anything and us beastmen value honesty.”

You looked up from your vest and crashed into a pair of sea-green eyes that burned bright with an unknown emotion. His pupils had contracted into the characteristic slit of beastmen in anticipation of the upcoming fight, but you had never been scared of these eyes. You held each other’s stare for a moment and just as he was about to withdraw his hands you grabbed the edge of his sleeve.

“I’m scared,”‌ you said, a hint of a challenge seeping into your tone.

Surprise flashed across‌ Osborn’s face, as if he wasn’t expecting you to be honest with him, but then he pulled his sleeve out of your grip to raise his hand to your head, ruffling your hair like you were younger than him despite how you were both the same age. “Danger has never been worth fearing, the source of fear lies in the unknown. But once you truly understand yourself and you’ve done all possible preparations, then the unknown and fear will disappear. So, the best way to confront danger is to learn to enjoy it. Besides, no matter what happens, you still have me.”

Oh. You understood the emotion you saw in his eyes earlier now. It was excitement.

Strangely, his words reassured some part of you and you found your trembling hands turn steady. In that pair of eyes that were as clear as an untouched lake in the mountains, you saw the reflection of your own eyes get touched by a similar excitement.

“OK, I’m ready now.”

The untouched lake in the mountains rippled with his smile, catching the sunlight and glimmering with something both of you weren’t ready to recognize yet.

It’s instinct for a fight or flight response to kick in when humans find themselves in front of an apex predator. But that doesn’t necessarily mean you’re scared. You embrace the adrenaline coursing through you and, without making any attempt to hide your pounding heartbeat, you stare unflinchingly into the eyes of the wolf beastman in front of you and you see his stance falter at your reaction.

“You clearly trust in the organization enough to remain here after my grandmother passed away and made me her successor. If you no longer agree with how I‌ run things, then the door is right behind you.”

There is a minute flinch from the beastman when you call out his bluff.

Unfortunately, despite the better treatment of beastmen presently, it wasn’t very long ago when humans had treated them as beasts of burden or pets. In fact, it was only more than a century ago that beastmen were given rights, but there were still many humans who were reluctant to accept them and this caused the beastmen to form groups of their own that tried to carve out spaces for themselves, legally or illegally. In response, humans reacted harshly and created segregated zones; however, there were also sympathetic humans who struck a compromise with beastmen and created organizations where they, in essence, vouched for beastmen and provided places for them to work and live without discrimination. The organization your grandmother founded and passed onto you is one of these, except that behind its public operations it also handles illegal commissions.

In short, if the beastman leaves he will have a hard time surviving on his own and will only be able to hope for another organization or group of beastmen to take him in. However, taking into account the illegal commissions your organization accepts, he likely has his fair share of enemies that will leap at the easy target of a lone wolf.

Your eyes turn cold. “If you’re done posturing, your punishment for acting on your own and breaking the rules is to be barred from taking any commissions and to report to the archives for a week. I hear they need more hands to revamp the database.”

The beastman reflexively raises his lip to bare his teeth but he wilts under your frigid stare and the wolf features withdraw seamlessly as he grits his teeth, nods in acknowledgment of his punishment, and turns around to storm out the door.

You look back down at the scattered report on your desk and sigh as you gather the papers together again and turn to pick up your tablet, steeling yourself for the headache-inducing task of resolving the mess the wolf beastman made. You have instructions to send to your executives.

There is a knock on the door when you are in the middle of a conversation with one of your executives and so you tell whoever it is outside to come in, but you don’t raise your eyes from the tablet screen. It’s a small power play for you to make whoever enters wait for you to give them your attention.

Five minutes later, after your executive confirms your orders and goes to carry them out, you flip your tablet over and look up only to see Osborn leaning against the door behind him, watching you with a smile on the corners of his lips.

“Osborn!? Why didn’t you say anything!”

You hurriedly stand up and round your desk. Last you heard, your boyfriend had been out completing a commission and wasn’t due back for another day.

Osborn steps forward to meet you, his eyes glimmering with amusement. “I was enjoying the scenery. Mn, as expected, my girlfriend is very pretty when she’s working seriously.”

A blush dusts your cheeks at his direct compliment and you cough into your fist to hide your own smile as you force yourself to sound stern. “Lift up your shirt.”

Osborn’s eyebrows fly up and he makes a show of looking around your office and over his shoulder at the closed door before asking, “Right here? You’re bold today.”

It takes a second for your brain to catch his implication and the faint blush on your face deepens into a bright red. This was something he clearly waited for, because Osborn grins like a mischievous boy who pulled off a successful prank.

“OSBORN!” You glare at him. “I’m checking to see if a certain someone is injured or not since he always loves to hide this from me. Lift up your shirt right now!”

“Tsk, imagine if someone heard that. You, the great leader of our organization, ordering me, a poor beastman, to lift his shirt up all alone in your office.” Even though Osborn continues to talk back, his hands reach down to pull his shirt out of his pants and raise the bottom of it to his collarbone.

The white incandescent ceiling lights in the underground office hide nothing and also cast a shine on the expanse of healthy wheat-colored skin that is suddenly exposed in front of you, giving it a marble-like sheen. Sleek. That is always the first word that pops into your mind whenever you see Osborn’s bare body; he has the classic triangle of broad shoulders that taper into a trim waist, but his height and long legs prevent him from looking bulky. Dangerous. That is the second word that follows after the first; Osborn’s body fat percentage is on the lower end and this causes his muscles to stand out in stark definition, drawing attention to all the coiled power in his frame. Temptation. That is the third word. Like the last dabs of ink on a work of art, there are four beauty marks on Osborn: one at the corner of his right eye, inviting you to kiss it; one on his collarbone, inviting you to suck it; and two right above his pelvis, inviting you to place your fingers on them and slide them down to trace the protruding vein on his lower abdomen to explore the depths that trail of hair below his navel leads—

You have to drag your attention off his body and refocus on searching for injuries. Happily, you don’t see any gashes, holes, burns, bandages, or stitches, even when you walk around to his back. There are only faint white scars scattered here and there that are unnoticeable unless you look closely or—and you know this through personal experience—when you run your hands over those tiny bumps. Like postage stamps, these scars record the places he’s walked, the sights he’s seen, and the situations he’s experienced.

Despite not being able to see you, Osborn seems to sense the downturn in your mood and he speaks up, “See?‌ Not a scratch. I’m much more careful with my life now.”

You give a noncommittal hum in response and finish your inspection to come back to stand in front of him. Then, before he can drop his shirt, you stick your left hand onto him right below his belly button, the tip of your thumb brushing against the waistband of his pants.

His body reflexively tenses but you feel him forcibly relax as you slide your hand up, traveling over the hills and valleys of his abdominal muscles, so that by the time your hand reaches his chest, your fingers sink into his skin rather than press into something as hard as steel. What was a boyfriend’s godly physique for other than to let his girlfriend ravage him like a stress toy?

You try your best to keep your lips flat and suppress the silly smitten smile that wants to appear, but you’re not sure you succeed when you feel the vibrations of Osborn’s chuckles, and then his shirt drops, draping over your hand that is still squeezing his chest, when he lets go to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you into his chest, trapping your arm between your bodies.

“Feeling better?”

“Hm?” You look up now that the scenery is covered and meet his sea-green eyes that are equal parts amused and concerned.

“When I came in, your face was all scrunched up at the tablet. Got something bothering you?”

You purse your lips when you’re reminded of what happened earlier. “You know how there’s always been some unrest after I took over, right? It seems to be getting worse.”

Ever since your grandmother passed away and you succeeded the organization, there were humans and beastmen who thought you were too young or that you would be a pushover. Your mother died early in your childhood due to an illness and your father chose to leave, wanting nothing to do with beastmen, and so you were raised by your grandmother.‌ When you were old enough to understand what the organization truly did, your grandmother had given you the choice to inherit her position or to leave like your father. You chose to stay because you shared her beliefs in working towards a future where humans and beastmen could be equals.

Osborn frowns. “I thought we dealt with most of them back then. Tell me who it is now and I’ll handle it.”

You shake your head. “No, that won’t solve the root of the problem.”

“But it’ll feel good,” he jokes.

His shameless response pulls a laugh out of you, which was probably his goal, and you raise your right hand to tap his nose, dodging the exaggerated snap of his teeth.

Osborn doesn’t insist on his suggestion because you both know it will only delay the issue. If he metes out punishment in your stead, then the other beastmen will only act obedient when he’s around, but the moment he’s gone they will test you again and even harder this time, believing that you’re hiding behind Osborn’s back. It’s instinct for beastmen to submit only to strength and, while you don’t blame them for being guided by their primal drive, it doesn’t make this any less of a headache.

As you pull your hand back your eyes land on the choker collar around Osborn’s neck.

The first time you met Osborn you were 11 years old and had just slipped out from under the watch of your bodyguard to explore the neighborhood while the adults had their boring meeting. Your grandmother had brought you on this trip to introduce you to the heads of other organizations, but there was nothing for you to do after that and your bodyguard didn’t want to play, so you could only take matters into your own hands.

You went on an adventure in the industrial district alone, climbing pipes, squeezing through holes in fences, and peeking into every nook and cranny of this concrete jungle. It was in the middle of this exploration that you suddenly heard the raucous laughter of other kids and followed the noise to a warehouse where you saw a group of boys using sticks and stones to bully a snarling black panther cub, although at the time you thought he was just a large black kitten.

Without a second thought, you shoved past the boys roughly and stood in front of the panther, spreading out your arms to protect him as you yelled at the boys to leave him alone. The kids told you that it was an evil beastman behind you, which only made you angrier and you picked up one of the rocks they threw at the panther to throw right back at them. The group of boys would have made you their next target if they hadn’t noticed the quality of your clothes and shoes and realized that they couldn’t afford to anger whichever family you were from.

After the bullies left, you wiped your sweaty hands on your dress and turned to the black panther who had quieted down. He gave a warning hiss when you walked over but was shocked into silence when you reached out to pet his head without any fear and cooed over his injuries. You even removed your hair ribbon to tie around his injured paw.

It took a while for your grandmother and the rest of your group to find you and, by that time, you had fallen asleep against the panther. You were only woken when he snarled loudly at anyone who tried to approach you and him. It was only when you were older that you learned the reason why no one tried to forcibly separate you two was because beastmen who lost control and returned to their beast forms were extremely dangerous, both to themselves and to others in their instinctive state.

Later, after you calmed everyone down and convinced your grandmother to help the black panther beastman get back on his feet, he ended up as your bodyguard, Osborn. You had argued with your grandmother over this because, in your child’s mind, having a beastman bodyguard went against what the organization stood for, but she refused to change her decision and so you could only set your sights on getting Osborn to be the one to reject this position.

As a child and then a teenager, Osborn had been reticent and extremely stubborn. When he joined the organization, he immediately chose to be a future bounty hunter in addition to being your bodyguard and so, whenever he was not on bodyguard duty, he would be training or running alongside the older and more experienced hunters on easy missions.

Whenever he was on bodyguard duty, you tried to escape his watch many times, hoping you could either annoy him enough to make him quit or get him in trouble with your grandmother, but no matter where you went he was always there right behind you. You remember losing your temper one day and throwing a collar at him, saying that if he was going to follow you around like a dog then he should look the part. This was your last resort in the hopes that a collar would be insulting enough to make him stop being your bodyguard. However, Osborn simply looked at the collar that had struck his chest and fallen to the ground, bent down to pick it up, and put it around his neck without a word.

It took a long period of time before you eventually confessed to him about your wish for his life not to revolve around you. You had always thought he was bound for freedom and that, like the color of his eyes, he was a staunch and resilient cedar tree on a wintry mountain, not needing to rely on anything or anyone but himself. This was when Osborn revealed that your grandmother gave him many options back then, but he was the one who chose to be a bounty hunter and requested to be your bodyguard.

After this misunderstanding was cleared, the distance between you two shortened greatly and the collar became something of an inside joke. At the beginning, there were beastmen who thought Osborn being collared meant he was weak, but after he repeatedly showed his dominance over them, there were less and less people who questioned his collar. Those who felt his fists knew not to doubt his strength and those who joined the organization later just assumed it was a strange quirk. Over time, the choker collar around Osborn’s neck became a familiar and unremarkable sight.

A sting that comes from your finger brings your meandering thoughts in the past back to the present and you see that Osborn has taken your right hand, put your finger into his mouth, and pressed a fang to it, not hard enough to break the skin but just hard enough to deliver a prick of pain.

“You’re not allowed to be absentminded around me,” He growls playfully.

You pull your finger out of his mouth and place it under his chin, pushing to tilt his head up. Osborn follows the action and bares his throat to you with a nonchalant smile on the edges of his lips.

“I wasn’t absentminded, I was considering our problem.”

You turn your finger over and slide it down Osborn’s chin and throat to run into the choker collar around his neck. An idea is sprouting in your mind. You only need to do something that can satisfy the primal instincts of beastmen to have them acknowledge you as being stronger than them, but who says it has to be a show of skill on your part?

“I recognize that look. You’re cooking something up in that brain of yours.” The vibration of his vocal cords passes through the collar to your finger.

“If I ask you to cooperate with me no matter what I do, would you?”

“Naturally, but what do I get out of it?”

“A favor for a favor.”

His eyes sharpen with interest. Normally, whenever you two play this game of “payment”‌ the expectation is a meal, a hug, a kiss, or maybe bedtime activities, to give a favor as payment means you’re planning something large or something you feel might be an imposition on him.

Osborn tilts his head and reaches up to remove your hand from his throat, intertwining his fingers with yours, before he gives you a slow smile. “Oh?‌ Should I‌ be worried now?”

You give him a fierce look. “Just tell me whether you’ll accept or not.”

“OK, OK, of course I accept, when have I not obeyed my girlfriend?” He chuckles and lowers his head to nuzzle his nose against your nose.

===

Several days later, after Osborn’s mission report arrives in your email inbox, the opportunity you’ve been waiting for appears.

You send a text to Osborn, telling him you’re calling in the favor and that you need him to be at The Pit this evening. He responds with a sticker of a black panther cub sitting with polite paws and saluting with its tail. The sticker is so cute you can’t help but send a row of emojis of a hand with its palm down to express petting. He replies again with an animated sticker where the panther cub reaches up to grab a hand and pulls it down onto its head. You’re unable to suppress the smile that stretches across your face as you turn off the screen.

The Pit is a local hangout for beastmen in the organization, functioning as a pub that serves food as well as a place for beastmen to gather, exchange information, or simply unwind and have fun. Humans are naturally allowed but, due to the large presence of predators there, they don’t frequent the place. All of this serves your objective though and you carefully pick out your weapons for tonight, demanding perfection from your choice of clothes to your makeup.

By the time you make your way to The Pit, you can already hear loud noise spilling through the closed doors into the hallway. The pub is at its peak hours and more packed than usual, on account of it being a‌ Friday night, and just five minutes earlier Osborn had sent you a sticker of the panther cub peeking out from behind a wall, clearly wondering where you are.

Stopping at the door, you allow yourself one deep inhale and exhale. This is going to be the performance of a lifetime. And then you push open the door and step inside.

There is a lull in activity when the beastmen catch sight of you, but conversations quickly resume, quieter than before though since many are evidently curious about your presence here. Humans are already rare enough in The Pit, to say nothing of the boss of the organization coming here. You ignore the gazes and scan the interior of the pub, searching for and finding Osborn in an armchair in the corner, and stride over to him, although you nearly pause when you see that he’s not wearing a shirt under his cropped leather jacket for some reason.

Osborn is in the middle of raising a glass of whiskey to his lips when he catches sight of you and you see him stop to take you in over the rim of the glass, his eyes moving up slowly from your heels to the black knee-length side-slit skirt, the navy underbust corset with subtle embroidery, the white chemise blouse, and the black overcoat draped over your shoulders that fans out behind you. You know you’re the very image of an elegant businesswoman, but the most important points of your outfit are your bright red heels, your bright red lips, and the way the embroidery on your corset catches the dim lights and shimmers gold-red. In the animal world, bright colors are associated with danger and right now you’re asserting that you’re the largest danger in this room.

You plant your feet in front of Osborn’s chair and throw the papers in your hand at him, letting it scatter in his lap. You deliberately printed out his mission report for this dramatic move. Osborn blinks and glances at the papers before lifting his eyes to yours and raising an eyebrow.

“Do you know what you did wrong?”‌‌‌ You open the conversation.

He gathers the report leisurely, skims the first page, and then sets it on the side table next to him. “I don’t.”

“I specifically told you to keep collateral damage low.”

He chuckles. “That was low.”

Out of patience with his back talk, you lift your foot and step right on his crotch, leaning forward to make your stance more aggressive and to loom over him.

He stills.

Sharp inhales come from the surrounding beastmen watching this show, but only you and Osborn know that the majority of your weight is at the front of your foot with the flat bottom and not the painful spike of the heel. Still, the sight is deceptive and this is exactly what you want.

“Don’t test my patience. Explain yourself, now,” you command.

“… They insulted you.”

“And? What, do you want praise for disobeying me to defend my honor? I can deal with them myself, but what do you think it looks like when a beastman in my organization disregards my direct instructions?”

You twist your foot, making it look like you’re grinding down on his groin although you aren’t using any strength, but to your surprise you can feel a change in the large mound under your shoe as it slowly expands and hardens. His chest is also rising and falling more prominently as his breathing deepens. You shoot your boyfriend a glance, asking him with your eyes if he’s seriously getting turned on at a time like this. Osborn looks back at you innocently, as if saying he can’t control his body’s honest reaction.

Then he reveals his beast ears and tail.

Osborn rarely shows his black panther traits in front of you for some reason and so this scene arrests your attention. Velvety black ears sprout from the top of his head before they immediately swivel backwards to give the illusion of his displeasure. A long, thick, black tail also appears and trails down from the leather armchair, the tip curling and uncurling.

Your distraction seems to be sensed and it’s Osborn’s touch when he wraps his left hand around your leg, just a bit below your knee, that brings you back to your senses. He’s still in character, an impertinent smile playing on the corners of his lips, but you can see the encouragement in his eyes for you to continue the act.

“You’re stepping on thin ice, little wildcat.” He layers his words with the characteristic growl of when a beastman’s control lessens.

You smile slowly—viciously. “I think you’re misunderstanding something here.”

And then you unleash your secret weapon. Your hand flashes forward to snap the hook of the leash, which you had wrapped around your arm to hide in your sleeve, onto the buckle of Osborn’s choker collar, and then you let a suitable length of the chain leash slide through your fingers before you catch the end of it and shoot your hand into the air, yanking Osborn’s head up and forcing his throat to be bared to you.

His glass of whiskey drops out of his hand and shatters on the ground.

It’s the only sound in the suddenly dead silent pub.

“If I say something is blue, then it’s blue. If I say it’s a clear day then it’s a clear day, even if it’s raining. If I tell you to go east, then you’re not to even look west. You can offer suggestions, you can offer opinions, but when I‌ give orders, you obey, because I am the law here. Do you understand?”

You see Osborn’s pupils dilate enormously, the calm surface of those malachite eyes consumed by the black of desire, and he swallows at your actions and words. Hard. His tail curls tightly and then unfurls to smack the side of the armchair rhythmically, revealing how he’s in a state of high stimulation.

“Do you understand?” You repeat, tugging the leash for emphasis.

There’s a constant vibration that travels through the leash to your hand, like Osborn is growling but it’s at a frequency too low for you to hear with your human ears. “… Yes.”

Everyone knows the significance of a bared throat. To reveal one’s throat is a sign of utter submission and no one can get near Osborn’s throat if he doesn’t allow them. So, for you to easily manhandle Osborn, the number one bounty hunter in the organization, cements your position above him. Any beastman will instinctively recoil at showing their throat to someone they don’t regard as being above them, whether that’s through choice or force. And here is Osborn, watching your performance with a heat in his eyes that threatens to engulf you.

Your mouth abruptly goes dry and you need to work to keep your voice level. “You’re not allowed to remove this leash until I‌ say so. It’s your punishment for disobeying my instructions this time.”

You lower your hand, pull your leg out of his loose hold to remove your foot from his crotch, and toss the rest of the chain leash into his lap. Your intent was to help him hide his erection, but when a low grunt escapes his lips at the impact of the leash dropping onto him, you send him a quick apologetic and guilty look. Then you turn on your heel and stride towards the door of the pub.

The stares and deafening silence from the rest of the beastmen descends on you and just as your steps are about to stutter from this weight you hear a voice.

“What, never seen someone get reprimanded? Stop staring and go back to what you were all doing,” Osborn drawls without a trace of embarrassment or anger in his voice.

His words immediately take attention off of you and you walk out of The‌ Pit without any mishaps.

===

Ever since your display at The Pit, you had no more incidents with the beastmen in the organization. Everyone gives you the respect you are due, if not even more. For example, the herbivore beastmen, who used to be neutral or friendly towards you, are all nervous around you now, as if you’re some kind of apex predator who will eat them at the next moment.

Oh, wait, there was one incident that happened afterwards and it was that you weren’t able to leave your bed the next day after Osborn visited you that very night to show his true response to your performance at The Pit.

These were all minor happenings though. The greatest trouble you’re currently facing is that Osborn’s birthday is tomorrow and you’re still torn on your list of presents for him. You already have a stack of boxes in one of the side rooms, filled with items that caught your eye throughout the year that you thought would suit Osborn. But these are all material objects and you know he doesn’t place much importance on those, instead the best thing to give him is something intangible, like an experience. The one thing that does come to your mind turns your cheeks red, but it’s also what you’ve been conflicted about for all these weeks.

Forget it, tomorrow you’ll take things one step at a time and decide whether or not to give Osborn his last present at the end of the day after the itinerary you have planned.

Turning off the lights, you set your phone alarm and head to bed early so that you can wake up at midnight to wish Osborn a happy birthday.

……

… You open your eyes in the darkness.

You don’t know how long you slept, but given how your bedroom is still dark not a lot of time must have passed. You aren’t exactly sure what woke you up, but you trust your instincts and so you keep your body relaxed and feign sleep while you strain your ears to catch any noise.

There. It’s the rustle of clothes as someone approaches your bed on silent feet.

Underneath your pillow, you wrap your fingers around the hilt of a dagger, inwardly calculating the distance of when you should attack. The intruder stops at the edge of your bed and makes no other movement for a while—it’s so silent you can hear their breathing deepen irregularly. Is it out of nervousness?‌ Or excitement?

Then you feel the bed dip from the weight of their knee pressing down on it and this is the opportunity you’ve been waiting for. You whirl around, simultaneously pulling the sheath off of the dagger, and stab at the intruder. However, they seem unsurprised at your action and accurately grab and twist your wrist to make you drop the dagger. Undeterred, you’ve already curled your legs to launch a kick at their solar plexus. But they also seem to have predicted this and throw their weight onto your bent legs to stop them from kicking out.

The both of you crash down onto the bed and you’re about to headbutt them when you catch a whiff of damp black cedarwood at the same time you hear a familiar voice.

“Xiao Five, it’s me.”‌ Osborn grunts.

You immediately relax. “Osborn? Why did you sneak into my room and not say anything?‌ Don’t you know that’s dangerous?”

He lets go of your wrist but he doesn’t reply or move his weight off of you and this is when you notice his abnormality. His body temperature is much higher than usual and his breathing has become uneven as he nuzzles your neck, sniffing deeply. The strands of his hair that brush against your jaw and cheek are slightly wet, as if he came here right after taking a shower.

“Osborn?‌ Are you OK?‌”

“You still owe me a favor, right? I’m calling it in. Will you spend my heat with me?”‌ His voice has already gone husky, but when you unconsciously stiffen he presses light kisses to your neck in reassurance and doesn’t do anything further.

You and Osborn have been intimate together many times, but you’ve never spent his heat with him because you know it carries a heavy significance for beastmen. You feel like it’s something that can’t be done thoughtlessly and Osborn has always respected your stance on all things. In fact, at the start of the relationship, he told you with a seldom seen seriousness that, as a beastman, he would instinctively make all sorts of advances towards you, but you had the right to refuse him at any stage and he would wait until you gave him the green light. When you pointed out how this could be unfair to him, he had only laughed, scuffed your nose with a finger, and said you only needed to consider yourself.

There is no doubt this is simply another tentative advance from him and, if you refuse him here, he will immediately back off and deal with his heat by himself. He only brought up the favor to give you an excuse to use, in case you’re too embarrassed to directly agree.

You breathe in deeply and think about many things, about Osborn’s birthday tomorrow, about your last present to him, about how certain you are that he is the person you want to walk with to the end of your life, and then exhale as you wrap your arms around him. “Okay.”

It takes a moment for Osborn to react, as if he wasn’t expecting for you to agree, and he even pulls back to examine your expression. “You’re willing?”

You stare directly into his mint-green eyes and nod. “I am.”

Then you close your eyes and prepare to be pounced on by an uncontrollable beast in heat. Except you only hear Osborn laugh quietly. You open your eyes again to see him grab the dagger on the bed and set it on the side table, turning on the lamp there for dim lighting, before he pulls off his shirt he threw on after his shower with one hand and then grabs you by the waist with both hands to lift you onto him as he turns to lie down on his back, letting you straddle his waist.

“Let’s kiss for a while first.” Happiness is clear in the curve of his eyebrows and eyes as he places a hand on your nape and pulls you down to kiss you.

Osborn’s lips are on the thin side, giving him an unapproachable air when they’re pressed into a flat line on an expressionless face, but only you know their softness. He licks your mouth and then presses his lips to yours, rubbing them together until they slide wetly against each other, and then he pulls your lower lip into his mouth to suck on it. When you naturally part your mouth, wanting to rescue your lip, he seizes this opening to dive into your mouth with his tongue.

You feel the hot spray of breath from his nose on your cheek when he tilts his head for a deeper angle, his tongue inviting yours into a dance that sends tingles through your body. You pant as his hands begin to roam across your body and run down your back, igniting all your sensitive spots with familiarity, before they slip under your silk camisole to caress the skin of your waist. The heat from his palms sears you and the calluses on his fingers spark a fire that melts your body.

It doesn’t take long until you’re boneless on top of him, exchanging wet kisses, and there’s a stickiness between your legs that makes you twist your hips, rubbing yourself against his abdomen with an inaudible mewl.

“It must feel frustrating through the cloth, why don’t you take off your underwear?” Osborn coaxes against your lips, his breathing ragged.

Your mind is already hazy with pleasure and so you obey his suggestion without a second thought, rising onto your knees with one hand on his chest for support while the other reaches down to pull off your underwear. A string of wetness stretches between your nether regions and your panties as you push them down before it eventually snaps and Osborn’s eyes darken at the sight.

Finally getting rid of your underwear, you sit back onto his abdomen and grind against him, leaving glimmering trails over that spot.

“Osborn…” You lean down to lick the underside of his chin.

How can he not know what you want after all the time you’ve spent together? But Osborn closes his eyes and clenches his jaw tightly to restrain the raging heat in him. “Not yet, you need to be wetter.”

“Aren’t you… in heat?” You roll your hips with a hitch in your words, feeling the pleasurable way the folds of your pussy run over the ridges of his muscles.

“Xiao Five, we’re making love, there’s no rush.” He presses a lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth before he chuckles. “Besides, don’t you know how much I‌ can endure?”

You do. You probably know better than anyone else. In the bedroom, this man insists on making you orgasm multiple times before he even cums once and, abruptly, this makes you feel a spike of annoyance. What’s he so proud for? If he wants to endure his heat so badly, then you would like to see just how much he can endure.

Sitting up again, you scratch down his chest lightly and enjoy the hiss and jerk of his body when your nails scrape over his nipples. Then you reach behind to palm and squeeze his bulging package before you push down the waistband of his sweatpants along with his briefs to free his cock, which swings up and smacks against your butt, sprinkling droplets of pre-cum on you.

“Mgh…!” Osborn’s hands on your waist flex, but ultimately he doesn’t do anything and just watches you with a heavy, burning gaze. There’s a thin layer of sweat on his face and a fetching flush of arousal at the outer corners of his eyes.

You lift yourself up and tease the head of his member, stroking it against your vagina, before you let it slide past your entrance and press it down to sit on its shaft, sandwiching it between your bodies, and move your hips back and forth. You’re so wet it doesn’t take more than two passes until the sticky wet noise of you rubbing yourself against him echoes in the room, making your ears red enough to drip blood, but you’re urged on by the way Osborn’s lips part as he pants heavily, his chest rising and falling noticeably while you satisfy yourself on him.

When your clitoris catches on the crown of his penis, the bolt of pleasure that strikes you makes you squeeze your legs around his hips hard and moan. Osborn exhales audibly, the last note so low it comes out as a growl and you can’t tell if it’s a warning or an encouragement. But since you’re intentionally provoking him, you ignore him and continue to grind your swollen nub into him.

His cock is hot between your legs and you can almost feel the vein on it pulsing as even more blood rushes into it, making it larger and harder. The slit at the top occasionally weeps, dripping more pre-cum onto Osborn’s lower abdomen along with your juices and soaking the hair down there.

Before long, you tense and mewl as the wave of your orgasm crashes over you and then you slump forward onto his chest, trembling and gasping for air. Osborn tugs you up enough to catch your mouth in a punishing kiss, biting your lips out of sexual frustration, but he also strokes your damp back soothingly to guide you down from your climax.

You lap at his lips with your tongue until he opens his mouth to let you in and gentles his kiss. Just as your tongue wraps around his though, you feel his fingers press into your vagina, making you give a full body shiver.

“Mm, I don’t want your fingers.” You wiggle your hips in objection even though you feel your hole clench down on them.

Osborn pulls his fingers out with an embarrassingly wet pop and then he taps your butt with his palm. “Greedy kitten. I can barely fit in two fingers right now.”

Without letting you say anything else, you feel his core muscles tighten into steel below you and then the world goes spinning as he flips you and reverses your positions so that he’s on top while your back is flat on the bed. When you’re still blinking up at the ceiling, trying to process what just happened, he pushes your camisole up with a hand and lowers his head to your breast, enclosing its peak with his mouth and sinking two fingers into your pussy entirely to their base.

You cry out at the dual assault of pleasure and your legs instinctively try to close, but Osborn’s broad chest is between your thighs and keeps them open. He speaks around the nipple in his mouth. “Be good, it won’t take long.”

He pulls sounds out of you like a skilled musician as he teases your nipple, drawing circles around it with the tip of his tongue, flicking it, pushing it down hard, and then letting it pop out only to lightly close his teeth around it and tug. When he begins sucking loudly, making you dig your toes into the bed and quiver, you barely notice him spreading his fingers in your channel, stretching it.

However, you do whimper when you feel the tight fit of him pressing a third finger into you. Osborn releases your nipple, which has hardened into a bright red pebble, and moves to your neglected breast while purring reassuringly. The vibration from his throat when he wraps his lips around your other nipple makes your nether regions clench and release another surge of wetness.

Osborn rotates his wrist and moves his fingers slowly. He raises his head from your chest to give you an open-mouthed kiss before he pulls away to examine your expression and make sure you aren’t in any enormous discomfort. Feeling reassured by your misty eyes and the moans that escape your lips he begins to thrust his fingers in earnest, curling them slightly to scuff the spongy area at the top of your passage close to the entrance.

You shout as the lapping tides of pleasure turn into a giant wave that drags you under. He nuzzles your sweaty temple and captures your ear in his mouth, teasing the sensitive lobe with his tongue, and then pants right there, knowing how much his voice turns you on. He’s rewarded when your pussy contracts around his fingers.

“Cum one more time for me, hm?” His voice is gravelly beyond belief.

The squelching sound of your slick and how it splashes onto the bed sheet, his palm, and your thighs with his rapid movements is drowned out by the rushing blood in your ears as you climb up once more to the peak of an orgasm. You arch your back and your legs are so tense they tremble.

Fireworks go off behind your closed eyes.

Osborn yanks out his fingers and then presses them to the top of your mound, rubbing slippery circles there to prolong your pleasure. The bed sheet under your crotch has darkened an entire shade.

Faintly, after you shakily drop back onto the bed, you feel Osborn remove your clothes completely and then there’s a rustle as he strips off his own. You come back to yourself with a quiver when you feel the heavy head of his penis land between the folds of your vagina and slide back and forth.

“Osborn…” Your voice is watery.

He grabs your waist with one hand to hold you in place while his other hand directs his cock to your hole. “Shh, don’t worry, I’ll give it to you right now.”

Osborn shakes his head to get his damp bangs out of his eyes as he lowers them to watch himself enter you, wanting to make sure there’s no tearing. His entire body gleams with a layer of sweat and veins stand out prominently on his arms and lower abdomen with how much he’s restraining himself to go slow.

There is an uncomfortable stretch when his tip pushes in, but the emptiness deep in your body drives your pussy to squeeze down and suck on him greedily. Osborn groans lowly and has to pause when his scalp and lower back tightens at this pleasure.

Finally, when his entire length is sheathed in you, you both let out sighs of satisfaction.

“Still okay?” Osborn strokes your waist and his palm is scorching hot.

Every breath you exhale feels like steam. “Mhm…”

Osborn begins to move slowly, not pulling out too far and not pushing in too deep. The dim light from the side table lamp casts a glow that softens his sharp contours and reflects off his feline eyes and the buckle of his choker collar, but something niggles at the back of your mind even as he picks up the pace after he sees how your hips chase after his.

It takes a moment for you to notice, especially when your thoughts get interrupted every time he thrusts in deeply, but there’s a blur around the top of his head, like the air there is hazy. You stretch a hand out unconsciously, wanting to touch it, and Osborn mistakenly thinks you’re reaching for him. He grabs your hand, nuzzles his cheek against your palm, and then he interlocks your hands together and leans down to place your hand above your head, kissing you as he increases his speed.

The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes obscenely in the room as he drives his pelvis into yours, and you can no longer think, you can only cling onto him and turn your head, breaking the kiss, to bite his shoulder as another orgasm crashes over you.

The explosion in your mind drives out all your thoughts.

Osborn pounds into you a dozen more times before he buries his head into the crook of your neck and releases into you with a muffled groan. The hot splash of ejaculation inside you makes you shiver and your passage convulses around him even as he continues to move in and out slowly, drawing out his climax. Osborn turns his head to pepper the side of your neck with soft kisses between his irregular breaths, but his body is still completely taut like a strung bow.

Oh, you know what it is that bothers you now.

“Osborn…”‌ You push at him until he pulls away to look at you questioningly.

“What’s wrong? Are you uncomfortable anywhere?”

“No, it’s not that.” Your hand slides to the front of his neck, where his choker collar rests, and then you remove it and toss it off the bed where it hits the ground with a thump. “You don’t have to restrain yourself.”

Osborn stills.

And then he pulls out of you and flips you over roughly. You yelp out of surprise and scramble to your hands and knees only to freeze when his right hand lands heavily next to yours on the bed and his scorching hot chest presses to your back as his penis, which is erect again, bumps against your entrance.

Osborn’s voice is the guttural growl of an unleashed beastman. “Are you sure?”

You lower your head to look down your body and see that a sinuous black panther tail is swaying next to your thigh. Osborn pushes himself into your folds and then pulls away again, as if kissing your slit with his cock, and the squishing noises this makes deepens the flush on your body. Your vagina contracts and a glob of his cum mixed with your slick is squeezed out and slides down your leg.

You are his willing prey. “Yes.”

A soundless shout is torn out of you when he slams his length into you without any warning and you arch your back. Your passage has already accustomed itself to his size and so you don’t feel any pain, just the mind-numbing pleasure of this new angle. Lewd cries you didn’t think were possible to make are drawn from you as he hammers into you and so you raise your left hand to shove a fist against your mouth. However, Osborn pulls it down and forces his fingers between yours while he presses your hand into the bed.

His breath burns your ear. “Don’t hide. I want to hear you.”

Suddenly, his cock strikes a spot inside you that makes your entire body jerk and you immediately pull away from him, frightened by that sensation. His right arm wraps around your waist like a steel bar though and he hauls you back to drive his member into the deepest part of you, grinding against your cervix as punishment. You struggle instinctively and claw at his arm with your right hand when bolts of pleasure and pain send tremors through your body.

But then Osborn raises his left hand, splays it out between your shoulder blades, and forces your upper body down into the bed, snarling so loudly the room seems to shake.

“Where do you think you’re running?”

“Not… running… It’s too deep…” You gasp with physiological tears hanging on your eyelashes as your shaking body calms from his lack of movement.

Osborn considers you for a moment and then you hear a low chuckle before he inhales deeply behind your ear, parsing the scent of your arousal. “I get it, you’re feeling so much your body can’t help but run away. So all I need to do is pin you down.”

And then he drags you down into a violent rapture.

He keeps his left hand on your back while he holds up your waist with his right arm, ensuring each of his thrusts enters you deeply at this angle until you’re a sopping mess. You can only clench your hands into the bed sheet and endure his assault with an open mouth. His hips are like a piston as he snaps them against you and his balls slap wetly against your thighs until the tender skin there turns pink. Even the wetness that leaks nonstop from your entrance gains a foamy white edge.

There’s a pressure swelling up in you like a balloon and this brings a sense of unknown terror. What’s even more alarming is that you can feel something large press insistently against your hole every time Osborn sinks himself as deep as he can go and rolls his hips, as if he’s trying to push something into your narrow passage. You turn your head with difficulty between each mewl and gasp and see a bulb with short spines at the base of his cock.

You begin to tremble intensely again and shake your head on the pillow that’s already damp with your tears and saliva. “No, no, that won’t fit.”

“Yes, it can. You can take it. You just need to relax more.” Osborn removes his hand and sucks on your shoulders, leaving a trail of red marks. His and your sweat slide down your back.

He reaches down to push back the hood on your clitoris and you choke on a cry when something wiry brushes against this sensitive bundle of nerves, making your eyes roll back into your head. Your pussy clenches down so tight that Osborn has to stop moving and bite back a curse.

“Didn’t I tell you to relax? How come you’re even tighter now?”‌

You can’t respond and, in fact, you can’t put any strength into your body with the pleasure wracking through you. If it weren’t for Osborn’s arm holding your waist up, you would have slumped into the bed long ago. Looking down, you see that he’s rubbing your clit with his tail while he resumes slamming his hips into you, each thrust deeper and harder than the last. The balloon in you continues to expand until, finally, the pressure is too much and it pops.

You squirt for the first time.

The clear liquid shoots out of you like a fountain, again and again every time your passage convulses, and it completely soaks Osborn’s tail. His tail reflexively shakes, like the tip of a rattlesnake, to get off the wetness but this just scatters it all over the bed. At the same time, he manages to shove the bulb at the base of his cock into you with a wet squelch and then ejaculates with a low roar.

The searing hot cum that strikes your walls makes you jolt and you try to get away from that feeling, but the penile spines on his bulb rake over the sensitive spots at your entrance and you sob, writhing, as another orgasm tears through you, making you squirt again.

“Pull it out, pull it out, it’s too much…”

Osborn has to drop his chest onto your back, crushing you into the bed with his weight to keep you still, and soothes you with words you can’t catch as you shake violently underneath him at the feeling of his release being pumped into you. Even though trickles of mixed cum seep out of where you’re connected, your abdomen is slightly sore, as if it’s been stretched.

“We’re locked together, moving will just make it worse. It’ll be over soon, you’re doing so good. You can take it, you can take all of me. That’s my girl.”

He turns your head and licks away the tears at the corners of your eyes before kissing you repeatedly until you respond by lapping at his lips. He draws your tongue into his mouth, sucking on it gently, and only then do you feel your drifting consciousness settle back into your body.

However, when Osborn turns to his side, bringing you with him, you shudder and dig your nails into the arm he has around your waist. “No more, no more… please, Osborn…”

“I won’t, I‌ won’t. I’m just helping you feel better,”‌ Osborn murmurs, breathing heavily as you unconsciously squeeze him. After his orgasm, his penis had softened a little, but being locked inside your wet warmth isn’t easy for him to bear either.

He runs his hand over you at your waist reassuringly and then reaches up to caress your breast while kissing your neck. His other hand reaches down and his fingers delve through the cute bush there to massage your mound lightly.

“Focus on my touch, that’s it.”

His body is like a furnace behind you, warming the pleasure into small pleasant waves that soak your whole body, and his gentle ministrations ease the discomfort in your abdomen as your attention converges on the actions of his hands and the way his lips travel down the curve of your neck, planting tender kisses.

Before you know it, you begin to rotate your hips a little to his movements and mewl with a shiver when his penile spines stroke the walls of your passage.

Osborn laughs huskily and asks, “Little kitten wants more?”

“Mm…”

He moves his hand a little lower, sandwiches your clit between his middle and ring finger, and moves his palm up and down in short rapid movements, stimulating the entire area. Simultaneously, his other hand that was playing with your breast pinches your nipple and tugs. You give another pleased hum.

A short while later, you come apart in his arms again. The orgasm this time isn’t violent and instead it’s like a hot shower that pours down on you. For a second, the wetness that gushes through your channel has nowhere to exit and makes the soreness in your abdomen worse, but then your body relaxes on him completely and, as your awareness floats off, you do feel better.

Osborn’s chest heaves up and down behind you as his muscles tremble with restraint to stop his hips from moving at the contractions of your pussy. He bites down on your shoulder and grinds his teeth over a patch of skin until a new red mark blooms.

You two lie there and catch your breaths and, eventually, his bulb softens enough to be pulled out with a wet noise. Your juices and his cum strive to rush out of your hole first and it almost feels like you lost control of your bladder and wet yourself, making you turn to him and bury your head into his chest out of embarrassment.

Osborn thinks you’re just looking for more intimacy and so he strokes your back and then cups your face in both hands to raise your head to share a slow kiss with you, purring all the while.

When you feel his revitalized cock nudge against your entrance again though, you quickly place your hands flat on his chest and push at him.

“Baby, I’m still in the middle of my heat,” Osborn pulls back and growls warningly.

“I’m thirsty,”‌ you say with a scratchy voice and raise your chin at him.

Just as you expect, he stops moving his waist and contrition flashes across his eyes. He lets you go to sit up and you seize this opportunity to climb off the bed first. Your legs are wobbly, but you can still stand on your own. However, the feeling of wetness sliding down your legs gives you pause.

Osborn must think you can’t walk because the next thing you know he scoops you up in one arm, making you exclaim and cling onto his shoulders to balance yourself. Heat rushes to your cheeks at how his hand is on your butt and thus touching the mess there, but he doesn’t seem to care or even give a sign of noticing it.

He carries you into the kitchen, turns the lights on low, sets you down at the kitchen bar counter, and goes around it to get water for you. It’s only when you cough loudly and pointedly though that he sheepishly goes to wash his hands first before he takes down your couples cup from the cabinet and pours a glass of filtered water for you, making sure it’s at room temperature. He sets the glass of water next to your hand and then goes to grab a bottle of water from the refrigerator for himself.

Your eyes can’t help but stay on him when he twists the bottle cap off and raises his head to guzzle the water, revealing the strong line of his throat and his bobbing Adam’s apple as he swallows. His skin is flushed pink from his earlier exertions and you watch, entranced, as a sweat droplet rolls down the swell of his chest, the mountain range of his abdominal muscles, and disappears into the trail of hair below his navel.

His lower half is just as much of a mess as yours and the two moles at his hip almost sparkle from how wet they are. His cock stands upright against his lower abdomen and bobs slightly in time with his breaths. Your throat is suddenly even drier and you avert your eyes.

You don’t want to sit on the counter stools because of the stickiness between your legs and so you lean forward, resting your forearms on the cool counter, and clasp the water glass between both hands to take small sips. The liquid wets your scratchy throat and you can feel yourself becoming refreshed again.

You’re so invested in drinking your water that you don’t see Osborn finish off his, set aside the empty bottle, and come back around to you.

Osborn’s intention is just to hug you and wait for you to finish your glass of water, but when he sees your swaying butt and your glistening hole, where trickles of his ejaculation still slide down your leg from time to time, his pupils dilate and his throat tightens. He swallows. Hard.

One second you’re drinking water and the next you hear and feel Osborn sigh contentedly as his entire length slides into your pussy. There is no resistance as your body rises to its toes and welcomes his cock greedily, knowing the pleasure it can bring. You quiver and nearly choke on your water.

“What are, mm… you doing?”

He moves leisurely, doing one deep thrust for every nine shallow thrusts. “You can ignore me and just keep drinking.”

“How am I supposed, mngh… to drink with… you doing that?” You gasp.

Osborn bends down, takes the glass of water from you, drinks a mouthful, and turns his head to feed you the water. But you can’t swallow fast enough as you try to drink and breathe between his thrusts, and so the water spills out from the corners of your lips and down your chin.

“Why do both your mouths love to leak so much water?” Osborn laughs while he licks and sucks away the water around your mouth and chin.

In a fit of pique, you lower your head and bite right down on the mole at his collarbone, leaving a pretty row of teeth marks around the black dot there.

“Hss, they both love to bite too.” He slams his hips into you and stays there, grinding against you and making you arch your back and moan. “But I prefer being bitten by the mouth down here more.”

He begins to pound into you in earnest and in the kitchen there is only the sound of damp skin slapping against damp skin, your intermittent cries and his low groans, and the pitter-patter of liquid dripping onto the floor underneath where you and him are joined.

Osborn slides his hands down your sides to rest them on your waist. “Baby, raise your hips a little higher.”

The height difference between you two means you need to rise to your toes for him, but your legs tremble with strain at this and at the pleasure that assaults your body, so your waist constantly drops down. This repeats for some time with Osborn having to remind you to raise your hips but you being unable to maintain this position for long.

Finally, as if reaching the end of his tether, he grabs the knee of one of your legs and pulls it up. With your legs wide open, this new and deeper angle he strikes you at makes you moan loudly, but when a particularly hard thrust shoves you against the counter and your breasts are pushed into the cold marble, you jolt and clench down on him so hard that he has trouble moving.

“Gngh, are you trying to snap me in half?” Osborn’s tail lashes from side to side and you hear it thump several times against the legs of a counter stool.

“The counter… is too cold…” You pant in protest.

He eyes your position and then grabs one of your wrists with his free hand so that he can pull you away from the counter. You feel as if your body isn’t your own and that you’re under his complete control with your arm and leg in his hands and spread open entirely for him to plunder. Every time his cock slams into you, making your juices splash against your thigh and his abdomen, you writhe uncontrollably and your passage contracts around him tightly, reluctant to let him leave.

Soon, an orgasm rips through you and you squirt, the clear liquid spraying all over the floor. Osborn thrusts a couple more times before he shoves his bulb into you again and ejaculates deep inside you with a low snarl. By now, you’re so exhausted that your body doesn’t do more than twitch at the feeling of his hot semen filling your pussy.

Osborn unconsciously tightens his hands around your wrist and leg hard enough to leave bruises as pleasure runs through his body and, when he remembers to let go, you slump over entirely onto the counter. He rubs your wrist in apology and leans down to nuzzle and kiss you.

Abruptly, he laughs breathlessly. “I guess all that water you drank just now was for nothing.”

You shoot him a glare and Osborn immediately wipes the amusement off his face and grabs the glass of water to feed you the remaining water obediently by mouth without any other intentions.

Right after you finish the last mouthful of water, and he rubs his lips against yours affectionately, his bulb softens enough for him to pull out. You hear the splatter of fluids dropping onto the floor as he moves away, but you’re too tired to be embarrassed and instead you just make a mental note to order Osborn to clean everything up tomorrow. He made the mess so it’s his responsibility.

Osborn picks you up to walk back to the bedroom and you see his cock slowly rise up again out of the corner of your eye, so you merely lean your head onto his and close your eyes to try and catch whatever rest you can from this short trip.

However, something velvety continues to brush against your cheek and, when you open your eyes, you see that one of his panther ears is flicking next to you, maybe because your breath is landing on it. Out of an unknown impulse, you lean forward and wrap your lips around the tip of his ear.

Osborn stumbles in his steps and then turns his head to bite the underside of your breast hard enough to make you let go of his ear and cry out. “Ow!”

He growls, “Do you want to be fucked to death?”

You jut out your bottom lip. “You never show your ears or tail around me! Can’t I be curious?”

He falls silent the rest of the way to the bed and you think that’s the end of the conversation and prepare yourself to be pounced on and devoured by a beast after Osborn sets you down, except that he surprisingly takes a seat in front of you and looks at you with an odd expression, something of a cross between confusion and hesitation.

“Are you really curious about my ears and tail?”

“Of course!”

The tip of Osborn’s black tail curls and uncurls on the bed and your eyes track the movement. Then he deliberately swishes his tail and chuckles when your eyes also dart from left to right.

“Why haven’t you ever shown any sign of this?”

This time it’s your turn to fall silent and you squirm a little. “I thought it’d be rude to stare or ask to touch them. Plus, wouldn’t it be like asking to touch someone’s arm or leg? Weird.”

Osborn bursts out in laughter. “As if I’ve ever refused you touching any part of my body.”

He has you there. A blush heats up your cheeks.

“Do you want to touch them?”

“Yes!”

Osborn lowers his head before you and you stretch out a hand to run a fingertip over the tip of a furry black ear. The moment you do though it flicks away and Osborn grunts. “That tickles. You can use more strength.”

He’s the one who said this! You reach out and grab his ears in both hands, rubbing them between your fingers and then moving down to caress their base. Osborn shuffles forward to drop his head on your shoulder and wraps his arms around your waist, chuffing.

“Tsk, the second I give permission you really aren’t polite at all in ravaging my ears.”

“I‌ can stop.” You pointedly stop stroking his ears.

“No, don’t. I was just kidding.” Osborn tilts his head and butts it into your hands, no different from a cat begging for pets.

You resume petting his ears but, in this position, your eyes land on his slow wagging tail. As if possessed, you reach out and grab the tip. Osborn tenses for a moment and then he relaxes and drops more of his weight on you.

The fur on the tip of his tail is slightly clumped together and still a little damp. Your cheeks burn again when you recall what exactly got his tail wet and you hurriedly concentrate on stroking his tail to toss those memories to the back of your mind. But just as you move your hand up his tail he hisses and you immediately stop, scared you hurt him.

Osborn squeezes your waist. “Don’t push the fur in the opposite direction. Feels uncomfortable.”

Reassured, you begin to stroke his tail in the direction of his fur, letting go to move your hand higher before you grab it again and smooth it down all the way to the tip. Osborn stops chuffing and instead you hear his breathing grow heavier and heavier, scorching your skin with every exhale. You continue to move up his tail until you circle your fingers around the base, where it connects to his lower back, and then pull your hand down the entire length of his tail.

A shiver runs through Osborn’s body, like he was struck by lightning, and he begins to involuntarily move his hips, nudging you with his engorged cock and leaving streaks of pre-cum on your abdomen. One of your hands rubs his ear while the other plays with his tail, tickling the base and caressing the underside. Osborn turns his head to press his lips to the side of your neck and you feel the vibration of him growling at a frequency too low for you to hear.

You don’t even realize your own breathing has turned irregular at the sight of him this needy until a tingle in your nether regions makes you clench your thighs and you feel a trickle of wetness leak out.

Osborn inhales deeply, smelling the thickening arousal in your scent again, and then he pulls away to look at you with misty eyes and says in a strained voice, “I need you.”

You support yourself with your hands on his shoulders and raise yourself up to sink down onto his member. He enters you with a wet squelch and you moan at this addictive feeling of fullness. He’s deeper in you than usual because of the position, but your body has become completely ripe under his care and now there’s only boundless pleasure when his penis presses to your cervix.

Osborn groans hoarsely when you begin to move up and down slowly, but even though his cock twitches angrily inside you at this torturous pace he doesn’t stop you, he just settles his hands at your waist and rubs circles there with his thumbs.

You press your forehead against his and pant, staring into that sea-green ocean which belongs only to you. He holds your gaze and you breathe in each other’s air until you find yourself saying these words naturally without any thought.

“I love you.”

And then the sun rises on that ocean in your eyes. The viridian color lights up so much it turns into a fuchsite shade and glimmers with too many emotions for you to discern. Osborn closes his eyes and kisses you hard, as if trying to pour all his feelings into you in this one kiss.

“And I love you.”

He can no longer stay still and he maneuvers you so that your legs are hooked over the crook of his arms before he begins to lift and drop you on his pillar. Your entire weight is carried by him like this and so when he drops you down for the first time, his penis slams into your cervix and fireworks of pleasure explode behind your eyes. You arch your back and climax with a soundless shout.

However, as if crazed, he doesn’t stop to let you catch your breath and instead continues to move his arms faster and faster, pumping you up and down with each thrust deeper and harder than the last like he wants to shove the head of his cock into the tiny opening of your cervix.

You wrap your arms around his neck and sob. “Mngh, wait… not there… You’re too deep… I’ll break…!”

“You won’t break. Look at how perfectly you fit me.” Osborn kisses you messily, his breathing ragged.

Like a small boat being tossed around on giant cresting waves, you’re completely at his mercy as he doesn’t stop pounding into you and, scarily, it feels like he’s really making headway in cracking open your cervix. Your entire body feels like a live wire and the smallest movement makes you shake, convulsing uncontrollably around him. Your mouth falls open as you try to breathe through this mind-numbing pleasure.

Everything is too wet and too hot.

Finally, he slams his bulb into you and the tip of his penis shoves deep against your cervix, his glans aligning with the opening there, and he shoots his sperm directly into your womb. This molten release and pressure makes you climax again and you squirt, the clear liquid splashing all over his lower abdomen and running down to stain the already soaked bed sheet. Osborn bites down on your shoulder with a muffled snarl, his hips jerking to shove as much of his cum into you as he can.

Your eyes roll back into your head and your tongue sticks out as a white-hot blaze of pleasure engulfs you and your consciousness snaps off from your body.

There are bells ringing.

No, there are literally bells ringing in the background because your phone alarm has gone off. Faintly, you feel Osborn stroke your back while he reaches out to grab your phone and turn off the alarm. He looks at the screen and then holds it up in front of you. In your unfocused eyes, you see his mouth open and close but you don’t hear anything as you sluggishly move your hand to your slightly distended abdomen where his release and cock fit snugly in you.

Osborn chuckles and this vibration runs through his body and member, inducing a full body tremor from you. “Have you turned a bit silly?”

He kisses you gently, pecking your lips again and again until you slowly come back to yourself.

“W… what are you smiling at?” You have to restart your sentence when your first attempt at speaking is scratchy beyond belief.

He only lays more kisses across your face until you make a noise of protest and then he stops to nuzzle his nose to yours. “Don’t you have something to say to me?”

“Huh?” Your mind is still dazed.

Osborn pulls back enough for you to see his blinding smile before he raises your phone before your eyes again. Right there on the alarm screen is the reminder “Osborn’s birthday! Be the first to wish him happy birthday!”.

The phone screen is removed and your vision is filled once more with Osborn’s glimmering eyes. His breath lands on your lips and when he speaks your lips brush together. “Remember what you want to say to me now?”

Seeing his childlike joy, you almost want to tease him and pretend not to remember, but at the same time a corner of your heart softens into a puddle and so you hug him and say next to his ear, “Happy birthday Osborn! May all your wishes come true and may everything you do in the future be smooth sailing. I will always be at your side until the day you no longer want me.”

“You’re the only thing I‌ could wish for and you better prepare for a long journey because I‌ want you at my side for a lifetime and more.” He hugs you back just as tightly.

You both enjoy the pure and simple warmth of this moment until you remember the itinerary you made for his birthday, including the list of his presents, and you can’t stop yourself from grumbling quietly. “You spoiled one of your presents already.”

“Oh? What was it?”

“……” You regret bringing up your minor complaint because now his question puts you on the spot and you feel embarrassed to just say it out loud.

“Lazy kitten, you’re going to make me guess? Hm, let’s see…” He clicks his tongue, as if in annoyance, but his swaying tail exposes his good mood. “Don’t tell me it’s… birthday sex? Tsk, you’re always accusing me of being cliche, but look at you.”

You pull back to smack his shoulder and your face burns with embarrassment. “No! I was going to ask to join you for your next heat.”

Shock flashes across Osborn’s face, because he understands the significance. For a long time, he has implicitly or explicitly asked you to spend his heat with him, but you always refused him. Of course he was the one who told you to only give him the green light whenever you were ready, and so he never pushed the subject and accepted your response every time.

“I never asked, thinking you had your own reasons, or that you were actually somewhat against beastmen, since you never showed an interest in my ears or tail, and that this was your reservation towards spending my heat with me. But now I see that’s not the case, so can I‌ ask why you were so hesitant in the past?”

You chew on your lip, but ultimately confess everything under his encouraging eyes. “It’s because I heard that a beastman’s animal nature is at the forefront during their heat and that there’s been cases where their animal nature rejects their partner. I don’t doubt that you love me, but what if some deep part of your instincts, beyond your control, would prefer your own kind rather than—”

Osborn crashes his mouth to yours, interrupting you and devouring your whimper as he kisses you like he wants to touch your soul with his soul.

By the time he pulls away and rests his forehead against yours, you’re both breathless. His voice is almost guttural from all the emotions he wants to squeeze into his words. “It’s you. It’s always been you. Since that day a little girl wrapped her hair ribbon around a panther cub’s paw without any fear, my animal nature chose you and won’t have any other. Naturally, I don’t want anyone else either.”

Your eyes sting at this confession and you pull him into another kiss. Your lips slide against each other and then his tongue is in your mouth, entangling around yours. The temperature between you two rises again as he strokes the underside of your tongue and teases the roof of your mouth.

Osborn breaks the kiss and begins to trail his lips down your jaw and neck, his breathing becoming heavier again. “Actually, I want to amend my earlier words. I do have another wish.”

“What is it?” You gasp, tilting your head back for him.

He laves his tongue over the bite mark he left on your shoulder. “Another round.”

“… No, no, no.” You say this even as he pushes you down and covers you with his body.

“I smelled how much you liked my ears and tail. Here, I’ll let you pet them again.” He moves his head to your breasts and begins to lick and suck on them while grabbing one of your hands to place on his head and shoving his tail into your other hand.

You want to chide him into stopping early tonight so that you can both wake up rested tomorrow to celebrate his birthday with the itinerary you planned, but as he slides his length into you again and every thrust shatters your thoughts into sparkling motes of light these dots of light seem to converge in your reflection in his eyes and you realize that you’re the only thing he cares about. And so you wrap your legs around his waist and surrender to this endless love.

He has never asked for or expected anything from the world, he has only wanted to find a small corner he can call home, and you’re fortunate enough to be able to build one with him.

===

The room is thick with the scent of copulation and there’s barely any surface that’s not wet with bodily fluids. The rational part of Osborn tells him he should clean the girl up so that she can sleep more comfortably, but the primal part of him demands for the smell of musk in the room to be thicker and denser, until every inch of the girl next to him exudes his scent. It isn’t enough for his smell to rest on her skin, she needs to smell of him so deeply that it won’t dissipate for days.

He is still hard and need is a dry heat in his body that burns like a prairie fire, but when he strokes the girl’s back, buries his head into her hair, and feels her mumble incoherently and unconsciously snuggle into his chest he feels a love pour into him that’s enough to bank the flames. There’s a fullness in him that pushes out the craving for more contact, more intimacy, more coupling, more, more, more. And so Osborn tightens his arms around the girl and presses her into him until there is no telling where he begins and where she ends.

[deonn-jaelle]

Am I enough for You?

summary

you sometimes feel insecure about how beautiful you really are to your husband and if you really are enough for as a wife.

warning ‼️ : angst? little but if smut at the end

word count : 1,531

pairing : husband aurélien x wife black reader (understands french) (reader is dark skin, skinny 22 years old and 5’7)

LONG NOTE AHEAD

note: this is my second fic ever and i’m slowly but surely improving :) this character is based on me. at 19 i don’t have any romantic experience and in the past i felt unloved and unwanted because of certain beauty standards within the black community along with the rest of society. i was also bullied a lot in elementary and middle school for looking how i do. over time i have learned to truly love me for me and it has been a long but fruitful journey. i just want to say to any black girls who don’t feel beautiful right now, it’s easier said than done but don’t look to other to make you feel beautiful. the love is within you. your golden brown skin lights up every single room. you have so much life and culture in your blood. you don’t have to change to “fit in” for anyone. you’re completely perfect the way that you look. you don’t have to be skinnier or thinker or have longer or looser hair. allow yourself to just be you. unapologetically. and lastly go where you’re loved. don’t give love and energy to people who don’t give it back to you. protect your heart and you peace.💗

and for any girls who don’t want kids and feel the pressure of everyone around them, being a mother doesn’t make you more valuable or a better person. don’t let anyone (especially a man) ever try to convince to bring children in this world that you know you don’t want. having kids isn’t a bad thing but it’s not for everyone and that’s okay. it’s your body and you know what you want to do with it. don’t feel guilty about it. 🤍

with ALL that being said enjoy and please tell me what yall think :)

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You love your husband. He's perfect in your eyes. To you, he is your saving grace, your angel. You get emotional thinking about him since he has just been so good to you. You really couldn't ask for someone better. When you first discussed marriage with him, you were concerned that he would not want to stay with you because you had chosen at an early age that you did not want children. When you discussed it with him, he said, "Kids or no kids, I want you to be my wife. In every life time." That's how you knew you'd never let him leave.

And he loves you. A lot more than you imagined. He understands you in ways that even you don't. He adores you and essentially worships the ground you walk on. He loves you softly and affectionately, but he also shows the passion that burns in his heart for you. Of course, he told and showed you in every manner possible, but there was always a voice in the back of your head telling you he wasn't as attracted to you as he said.

At 22, you were a late bloomer, and he was your first everything. First relationship, first dates, first sexual encounters, first time feeling truly liked and loved. You couldn't help but compare yourself to his ex's, who looked nothing like you. They were just the reverse, actually. Curvy, light brown skin, loose curly hair, and slightly shorter. You, with your slim long legs, darker chocolate skin, and 4c coils that were usually done in knotless braids, as well as your 5'7 height, felt attractive but not enough for him. You loved yourself and thought you were gorgeous, but owing to previous experiences and the world's overall beauty standards, you suspected he had settled.

You frequently went back and forth in your thoughts, arguing whether you were crazy for thinking this or not.

"Well, he wouldn't be with me unless he thought I was attractive. I don't know, maybe-." Your thoughts were distracted by his calming French accent. "Baby? Are you listening?" he asks, gently tapping your back with your pillow as you lie in bed, listening to his heartbeat. You answer "mhmm yeah I am" in a weak hushed tone, attempting to conceal your emotions. He stopped talking about……..whatever he was talking about. "You know I don't like it when you lie to me. I can't see your face, but I can tell something is hurting you. What is wrong, ma belle?" He continues in a worried but calm, not wanting to scare you away from my own feelings, as you have previously struggled to convey your deeper feelings.

You sat on your knees beside him, holding his hand, and looking him in the eyes. "I have something to ask you, and I don't want you to think I'm crazy or anything," you say straight-faced and serious. "Ask me anything. Go ahead” he speaks quietly, kissing your knuckles. Before you could say anything, the expression in his eyes told you that you were insane for thinking what you did. His pupils completely dilate every time he looks at you. You can see his heart beat harder every time he hears your voice. He loved you, and he was completely enamored, head over heels for you. With all this in mind, you eventually found the guts to ask, "Do you really love me?" You say, staring down at your hand in his "Y/n I thought this was something serious you scared me" he says chuckling, thinking this was one of those 'would you love me if I was a worm' questions, but you were dead serious.

"No. Aurelien I am not joking. Sometimes I think I'm not good enough for you. You have significantly more experience than me...I'm not sure why, but I don't think I'm the type of girl you prefer. They were all curvy and beautiful, and they didn't look like me. And how can I be the perfect wife if we don't have children? Part of being a good wife is being a good mother, right?" You cry as tears pour from your eyes, "Baby, Baby, it's okay, come here," he whispers, drawing you back onto his chest and lightly squeezing you. He caresses and kisses your head, saying, "Y/n. I thought we already talked about having kids. I want everything you want. I want whatever will make you happy. Being a wife is more than just being a mother. Being a wife means loving and supporting me through the good, bad, and ugly………It’s reminding me that no matter what happens, I always have a safe place to go. It’s changing and evolving with me for the better. We've only been married for a year, and you've done it tenfold. You've helped me grow as a person and man in ways I didn't realize I needed. Of course, I love you. I wouldn't be here if I didn't have you, mon coeur," he adds, raising your hand to his warm lips and kissing your wedding rings.

"Really? because I think this first year has been incredibly slow for us. I'm still trying to sort things out at work, and I feel horrible for not being able to go with you to your matches." You said between sobs. You decided you still wanted to work during your marriage. You didn't want your degree to go to waste after working so hard for it, and you were really passionate about your career. You enjoyed your job, but it took a lot of time away from your lover, so you attempted to make up for it by doing small things like always having his luggage packed two days before he goes or ensuring he has all of his meals prepared for the week, but you still felt bad.

"I couldn't be happier, Chérie. Of course, I miss you a lot while I'm away, but it only makes me more excited to see your beautiful face when I get home. You aren't always there but when you are, it makes things better. I appreciate it more when you are there because you don't get to come very frequently. And I would never pull you away from your work. I know you love it, and I love seeing you do what you love," and the two of you became silent for a minute.

"Look at me, y/n" you said, sitting up and straddling his lap, your hands on his chest. As you look at him with red, hurting eyes, he leans in, lifts his hand, softly wipes your tears with his thumb, and kisses your lips. "Do not compare yourself to the women I've been with before you. I chose you because you are different from them. You love me differently than them. I cannot get enough of you, y/n. Why do you think I make love with you the way I do?" He says, gripping your chin so you don't look away, his pupils completely expanded.

Now that you think about it thoroughly, without your emotions interfering, you know he loves you. You've always known it, and you felt dumb for allowing your insecurities keep you from seeing and accepting it fully. After all, he's done nothing but prove it to you day after day. How could you possibly doubt him?

Aurelien proved that he loved you in every way achievable. In all five love languages, plus those he somehow invented. He lives to please you and never disappoints. You love how he helps you get dressed for work on his days off or kisses the top of your head and says “You need to sleep now baby come to bed” when he comes home late and you’re still at your desk typing. However, he likes making love to you the most. He is extremely attentive and meticulous about every touch, squeeze, kiss, and stroke. He will give it to you any way you want it.

"I kiss, touch, and lick every single part of you because I love how you feel……..and how you smell" he kisses your mouth and proceeds down to your jaw. "And how you taste" he says firmly gripping your waist. "I love how long your legs look when I'm eating you, y/n," he murmurs in your left ear before softly biting it. Your breath caught in your throat as you attempted to whimper, but nothing came out. You think back to every time he was between your legs, eating you like there was no tomorrow. Your hands move to his shoulders, and you squeeze softly as you arch into him. He continues, “I love running my hands through your hair while I fuck you"

You moan quietly He started to go to the edge of the bed and hang his legs over the end, still holding you on his lap. "Look behind you" and turn your head around, only to be confronted with his warm stare and your own. "I'm going to fuck you in front of this mirror so you can see you how I see you" he says, turning your head back and kissing you passionately.

that’s the end for now. i still have trouble with writing for real people. im trying my best to match their personality but it’s not easy for me lol. anyway, let me know if yall want a part two. please like, comment and repost. love yall🤍

[lunarubra]

NONONONONONONONONONONO!

@mischievouslittlecreature YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO US, LILY!!

Okay, I need to breathe. I absolutely loved how you handled the conversation between Lucy and Lizzie—it was so mature and felt like they finally found a way to communicate. I know Lizzie isn’t your favorite character, but I really appreciate how you’ve developed her through all these chapters. I can tell it wasn’t easy, so thank you for giving her this kind of depth, you did a much better job than SK did.

Maybe I’m being too optimistic, but I feel like Lizzie is starting to understand the real connection between Tommy and Lucy. That said, she still comes across as immature about it, like she thinks Lucy is just a placeholder Tommy could toss aside to be with her. Honestly, it’s kind of sad—she doesn’t seem to truly understand what it means to love someone and share a life together, the way Tommy and Lucy do.

But then, ugh, Luca. Have I mentioned how much I hated him in the show? I almost stopped watching during his arc because the whole Americanized version of the Italian mafia was just… no. And don’t even get me started on the Italian dialogue—it made me cringe every time.

Anyway, I’m terrified now. I don’t know if I have the strength to face the next chapter, but at the same time, I can’t go to bed without knowing Lucy’s okay.

See you in the next one!

Part 21: The Shadow of the Abattoir

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x OC

Summary: Lucy decides that she and Lizzie need to talk.

Word Count: 5,007

Notes: Warnings for depictions of violence, choking (not the fun kind), pregnancy, and references to abortion.

Previous Chapter • Series • Fic • Next Chapter

Chapter 20: The Moment of Catastrophe

“I need to talk to Lizzie.” She was standing in front of Tommy’s desk, eyes downcast and fingers picking at one of the little wood carvings of a horse she’d made for him. Tommy’s eyes snapped up to hers from where they had been focused on the papers she’d just deposited in front of him, capping his pen and straightening up.

“You don’t have to–”

“I sort of do. If I’m going to remain involved in all of this.” Involved with you, she added silently. “And it’s killing me not knowing what her actual feelings or intentions regarding me are.”

Tommy frowned, eyes wary. Lucy was pretty sure that the main reason why he hadn’t encouraged a sit-down between the three of them already was because he was worried about what Lizzie might say to her. 

“I’ll go with you.”

But Lucy shook her head. “I think it would be better if she and I talked alone first, actually.”

His frown deepened. “If I’m there, I can act as a buffer if she starts getting unpleasant…”

“Exactly. I need to know how she really feels, Tommy.” Running a hand through her hair, she sighed, well aware that she might be willingly walking into a lion’s den with the full expectation of getting mauled. But she couldn’t keep living in this limbo of sitting around, wondering what Lizzie really thought of her. Of what her intentions were. Everything that her mind kept coming up was horrible. At least this way, she would know for sure and could adjust accordingly. “We’re both adults. We can sit down and have a mature conversation.”

“You might be able to,” Tommy muttered. Lucy gave him a look that was intended to be stern, but failed miserably at hiding the fond amusement underneath.

“Don’t be mean.”

Tommy sighed, thumbs twiddling together before he stood, stepping around the desk to get to her. His large hands smoothed up and down her arms reassuringly. 

“Don’t let her bully you. If she starts being nasty, just leave.”

Lucy nodded. “I’ll walk over to her house after running some errands. I’ll be back before lunch.”

He touched her face, thumb running across her cheek before kissing her, then pulling her into a hug. “I love you.”

Looping her arms around his middle, she squeezed him back, letting her head nestle against his chest. “I love you too. I’ll be back soon.”

He kissed her again before letting her go, hands stuffed into his pockets and watching her grab her coat and go to the door. She offered him what she hoped to be a reassuring smile before stepping out, pulling her cap onto her head. 

The errands she needed to run seemed to pass incredibly quickly, but the walk to Lizzie’s felt as though it took an eternity. It was in a neighborhood similar to where Polly lived, on the outskirts of the city. As she walked, she smoked cigarette after cigarette, anxiety settling like rocks in her stomach. 

She had not been wholly honest about her reasoning for coming to speak with Lizzie. Yes, she did need desperately to know where Lizzie stood on everything–where she stood on her–but that wasn’t all. She supposed that a part of her almost wanted Lizzie to yell at her. To throw things at her head. To tell her that she was a selfish monster for still clinging to Tommy when she knew that if she were gone he and Lizzie could have a chance to actually build something together with their baby. 

Her own mind had been relentlessly pummeling her with those thoughts since Tommy had told her the news; might as well let the person she was actually hurting have a chance to hurl them at her herself. 

Of course there was the other part of her that clung to a small sliver of hope that it wouldn’t be that bad. That Lizzie could actually make peace with their current arrangement. Maybe even be happy to have Lucy around. 

Wishful thinking, that was. Especially that last bit. 

When Lizzie’s house came into view, her hands started to tremble, and she immediately regretted not taking Tommy up on his offer to come with her. He was more or less the only reason she’d managed not to entirely fall apart, or pack up her things and disappear into the night without a word. Without his stabilizing presence beside her, she felt terrifyingly adrift and at the mercy of her own treacherous, tortuous mind.

Her boots clomped against the stone steps, shaking fingers drawing into a fist that she tapped against the wood in a few quick raps. Stuffing her hands into her pockets in an attempt to hide their trembling, she glanced around while she waited, eyes landing on the man kneeling next to a flower bed by the steps leading to the front door. A pair of dirt-lathered gardener’s gloves covered his hands, a spade, trowel, and weeder laid out next to him on the grass. He had a hat pulled over a shaved head. His face was weathered and wrinkled with age, but there was something familiar there that she could not quite place. For a second, their eyes met, and then his gaze immediately dropped back down to the dirt in front of him, working to dig a weed out of the flowerbed. Before Lucy could scrutinize him more, the door opened.   

“Lucy.” Never before had Lizzie’s height seemed so intimidating. Her eyes were cold, jaw set.  

“Hi.” Her smile came out as more of a grimace, fingers coming together unconsciously to play with her rings. Lizzie just stared at her, expression unmovable and chilly as a glacier, mouth pressed into a firm line. Lucy forced her hands to separate, though her fingers still twitched anxiously at her sides, eyes darting around the street. “Can we talk?” 

Lizzie looked as if she found the suggestion just about as desirable as drinking spoiled milk, but after a moment of consideration sighed, and pushed the door open the rest of the way so that Lucy could come inside. 

Lizzie had clearly been hard at work decorating and furnishing the house, rugs already lining the floors, the sitting room adorned with plush couches, chairs, and carved wooden tables. Picture frames were hung up on the walls, little bits and bobs purposefully positioned on the mantle above the fireplace. 

Lizzie shut the door behind her, shoes clicking against the floorboards as she strode past her and into the sitting room. 

“What do you want?”

Off to a great start, then, Lucy thought dejectedly. “I just…thought that we should talk about…things. Just you and me.”

“I’m not getting rid of the baby,” Lizzie said immediately, head tilted up stubbornly, defensiveness straining her voice. “So if that’s what you’ve come to discuss, you might as well leave–”

“That’s not why I’m here.” She tried hard to temper her hurt that Lizzie really thought she’d come all this way just to twist her arm into getting an abortion even if she didn’t want to.

Before either of them could say anymore, there was a knock at the door. 

“For Christ’s sake,” Lizzie growled, stomping past Lucy back to the door and wrenching it open. “What?”

“Begging your pardon, Miss. Stark, but could I use your phone for a moment?” the gardener was standing there, mopping at his brow and ringing his dirty gloves in his hands. “I’d like to ring my wife to let her know I may be a little late getting home this evening.”

“Yes, yes,” Lizzie stepped aside, pointing towards the entryway to the kitchen. “It’s in the back.”

Lucy waited until he had wandered into the other room and she could hear the distant, incomprehensible hum of his voice on the phone before speaking again. “The house looks nice.”

Lizzie smirked. “Tommy paid for it.”

“I know.”

Her smile dropped, and Lucy shifted from foot to foot, aware that she was doing little to help in the mending of things between them. “Can we sit?” she asked, nodding to the couch in the sitting room. Lizzie looked like she’d rather do just about anything else, standing there with her arms crossed over her chest, lips rubbing together. But finally she sighed, arms dropping to her sides. 

“Sure.”

She followed Lizzie’s lead over to the dark green sofa, sinking down into the cushions on the opposite side from her, ample space left between them. Lucy’s hands rang together, unable to stop her fingers from fumbling with her rings. Lizzie’s expectant expression only served to make her more nervous, bubbles of anxiety lodging into her throat and making it hard for her to recall the words she’d been practicing over and over in her head on the walk over there.  

“Right. Look, I just thought…given that we’re going to be…I mean, I just wanted to tell you that, um…now that you’re having Tommy’s baby…I–”

“For fuck’s sake, will you just spit it out?”

She flinched, feeling her shoulders draw in at the way Lizzie snapped at her. Being yelled at or spoken to harshly wasn’t exactly new to her, but there was something about the impatience in Lizzie’s tone that made her feel like a young child being scolded. As if she wasn’t already doing enough damage, here she was, coming into this poor woman’s home and annoying her with nonsensical ramblings. 

Before she could stutter some more and continue to make a complete fool of herself, there was the sound of footsteps approaching from the kitchen. The gardener appeared, pulling his cap on over his bald head, giving a respectful nod to Lizzie.

“Thank you for letting me use your phone, Miss. Stark. I’ll be heading back outside, now.”

“Of course. If you need any water or anything, help yourself,” she waved a hand towards the sink and pantry in the kitchen. The gardener nodded, his eyes tracking to Lucy before quickly looking away, shuffling towards the door. They both waited until it had swung closed behind him before saying anything. 

“Look,” Lucy took a deep breath, managing to pull herself somewhat together. “I just…wanted you to know that I don’t have any intentions of coming between Tommy and the baby. And I wanted to tell you that–only if you’re comfortable with it, of course–but I’m happy to help in any way that I can.” She forced herself to meet Lizzie’s eyes. Her face was still set in a harsh frown, but some of the coldness had seeped out of her eyes before she looked down at her hands, folded carefully in her lap. “I know how Tommy can be sometimes,” Lucy continued, still keeping her gaze on Lizzie despite the other woman still staring downwards. “So if you ever…if you and the baby aren’t getting what you need from him, you’re always welcome to come to me instead. Sometimes I can be a little more successful in convincing him of things.”

Lizzie’s gaze lifted to meet hers, any warmth that had started to seep into her eyes gone, leaving nothing but cold steel in its wake. 

“If you really wanted to help, you would leave Tommy and never come back.”

Lucy’s lips parted, shrinking in on herself subconsciously. The words were hurled at her like a rock, and ready as she thought that she was to hear them, they still pierced painfully in her chest. Now it was her turn to look down, staring at the plain golden rings that encircled her fingers. She made no attempt to defend herself. No effort to argue against Lizzie’s demand. This was why she was here, right? To let Lizzie punish her for the selfish choice to still stay with Tommy. To keep him from truly having a proper family with Lizzie.

And Lizzie was correct, of course. Leaving would be the right thing to do. The less selfish action. Hell, if she left right now, she could head over to the house, pack up her things, and be on a train out of the city before the sun had even set. Yes, Tommy may be sad, at least at first. But he would get over it. With Lizzie by his side, it wouldn’t be long before he would forget that Lucy had ever even existed in the first place. 

Lucy wrapped her arms around herself, as if she could somehow hug the horrid thoughts out of her. No, no. That wasn’t true; Tommy would be distraught if she left. He wouldn’t just get over it. He loved her. He didn't want to be with Lizzie. He said…

But that one cursed phase continued to spin in her head, repeating over and over again:

But maybe if I wasn’t here…

Beside her on the couch, Lizzie shuddered, turning away, knuckles pressed to her lips, twitching and fidgeting. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.” She said finally, and before Lucy could respond, she launched up out of her seat, starting to pace across the room. “It's just so unfair. I’m having his baby, and he won’t even consider…” she trailed off, shooting Lucy an ashamed look. All the venom and iciness that had been in her eyes a moment ago was gone, and for a moment, Lucy felt as though she were staring into a mirror of her own guilt and pain. Lizzie wetted her lips, shoulders lowering. “When Polly told me I was pregnant, I started to hope,” she said, finally, as if trying to offer some sort of explanation. 

“Lizzie…” Lucy started sympathetically. Her hand rested on the cushion beside her in silent invitation, and after a moment of looking her up and down warily, Lizzie shuffled back over and plopped down beside her. “You can’t force someone to love you,” Lucy said after a long pause during which she internally debated whether or not to actually speak the words. But the venom of jealousy did not return to Lizzie's face. Instead she just merely looked to the floor, expression crestfallen in a way that made Lucy’s heart hurt. 

Guilt gnawed at her like a dog with a bone, chipping away at her bit by bit. The irrational part of her still blamed herself. Still battered her with endless internal torment. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to shove away the continued mantra of: But maybe if I wasn’t here…But maybe if I wasn’t here…But maybe if I wasn’t here…

“Even if I didn’t exist, or was wiped off the face of the earth at this very second, it still might not change the way that he feels. I’m not saying that to be cruel.” Reaching out, tentatively, like she would a skittish horse, she settled her hand on top of Lizzie’s where it rested on the firm green cushion between them. “I’m saying it because if you’re only having this baby as some…attempt to force Tommy to fall in love with you, you might not get what you want. And that wouldn’t be fair to the baby. Or you. Or Tommy. But, if you do genuinely want the baby…”

“I do,” Lizzie nodded vigorously, the hand not covered by Lucy’s going to press against her still flat stomach, and Lucy could see the genuine love that crossed her face. Lizzie had always liked children. She’d always been incredibly good with Charlie, and often at family gatherings she would take time to sit and play with John’s kids.

“Okay,” Lucy said. “Then we’ll figure out some way to make this all work. I know that Tommy is dedicated to supporting both of you, and will want to be involved in their life as much as he can. And I…” it felt impossibly selfish for her to ask what she was about to, but she forced herself to ask anyway. The worst that Lizzie could say was no, after all. “I’d like to be involved too, at least just a little. But I can understand if you don’t want that and I can keep my distance, if you’d rather. I don’t have any intentions of trying to…take away or usurp your position as the baby’s mother. I just want to help.”      

Lizzie’s head tilted slightly, considering with her eyes focused faraway on the opposite wall. “I suppose…I suppose that would be fine. Tommy will insist on you being around anyway.”

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to include me if you’d really rather not,” it would hurt. A lot. But she didn’t want to force Lizzie into anything, either. “It’s your choice who helps you to raise your baby.”

“Yes, but it’s his too, isn’t it? He’ll want you included,” she shrugged. “I suppose that I could use as much help as I can get.” She finally looked back at Lucy. “And you’ve always been so good with Charlie.”

It was Lucy’s turn to look away then, bashfully staring down at her shoes. Beside her, Lizzie shifted, and when she spoke again, some of the bitterness had returned to her voice. 

“He loves you so much.”

Lucy felt her brows pull together slightly, her guard, that she’d dropped as Lizzie’s iciness had thawed, cautiously starting to raise back up. When she lifted her head, Lizzie was looking away from her again. 

“I suggested that he split up with you, did you know that? When I told him about the baby. And he wouldn’t even consider it. Not even for a second.” Her gaze shifted back to Lucy. “It’s hard not to hate you for that.”

Lucy pulled her hands back, settling them in her lap so that she could unconsciously fiddle with her rings again. “I’m sorry–”   

“No; don’t apologize. It’s,” Lizzie squeezed her eyes shut. “It’s not your fault,” she opened them again. “It’s my problem. And I am trying not to hold it against you. I promise I am.” She gave her a small, humorless smile. “I was doing pretty well at it until that day by the canal.”

“It was so selfish of us to take you down there. I’m sorry. We weren’t thinking.”

“Neither was I.”

Lucy nodded, fingers flexing. “I mean it, you know. Tell me if there’s anything that you need from either of us, and I’ll do what I can,” her shoulders raised in a tiny shrug. “The three of us are in this together, now.”

“Thank you.” Lizzie murmured. “I appreciate that. Really. It’s just so,” she hesitated, searching for the word, and finally simply settled on, “hard.”

Lucy nodded. Outside, she could hear the sounds of cars. “It’s difficult for me too.”

Lizzie shot her a quizzical look, and Lucy squirmed in her seat uncomfortably. 

“I can’t have children,” she explained in a soft voice, hoping that would be enough clarification as to what she meant. Lizzie’s eyes widened. 

“Really?”

Lucy nodded. Lizzie’s brows pinched, pale hand reaching out to rest her long fingers on her knee. 

“I’m sorry.”

Lucy just shrugged. “I’ve mostly made peace with it, I think.”

“I always wondered why you and Tommy didn’t have any of your own.”

“Yeah, well, that’s why.” It certainly wasn’t for lack of trying. She had made a half joke, many years ago, that if there was a way for her to get pregnant, Tommy surely would have figured it out by now.  

She looked back at Lizzie. I suppose we both have something that the other wants, then.

The clock on the wall chimed, and when she looked in its direction, it was to find that far more time had passed while talking to Lizzie than she’d thought. 

“I, um, I should get going. I promised Tommy I would be back at the office before lunch.”

“Right,” Lizzie withdrew her hand from her knee and sighed. “I don’t suppose you have any idea when this mess with the Italians will all be over, do you?”

“Soon, I think.” I hope, she corrected. 

“Have you beheaded any more Italians lately?”

Lucy felt a tiny smile prick at the edges of her lips. “Not yet.”

One side of Lizzie’s lips quirked upwards. “Personal feelings about you aside, I am glad that my baby will have you to be there for them.”

A rush of emotion washed over Lucy at that, looking away with a small smile as they both stood. Fumbling with her rings one last time before letting her hands drop to her sides, she raised her head to look up at Lizzie. “Thank you for letting me be involved. Really. It means a lot.” 

Lizzie nodded, and walked her to the door. 

“I’ll talk to you later?” Lucy asked, a teeny, tiny bead of hope, that maybe the friendship they’d been on their way to building before this whole mess had blown up in their faces could be salvaged, had begun to bloom despite her attempts to temper it. 

“Yeah,” Lizzie nodded. “Take care of yourself.”

“You too.” Pulling her cap out of her pocket, she reached for the door handle and twisted it open. 

She barely had time to process the towering, dark suit-clad figure standing on the other side of it, or the cocked hat on his head and the toothpick wedged between his teeth, before a hand, fingers adorned with rings, crashed in a vicious backhand across her face. The side of her head slammed hard into the doorframe, and she went sprawling to the ground, dazed, black spots appearing across her vision. Somewhere behind her, she heard Lizzie scream. 

She hardly was able to make out the figure of Luca Changretta, still looming over her in the doorway, before his booted foot swung into her face, and everything went dark. 

∗ ∗ ∗

Lizzie braced a hand on the wall of the narrow hallway leading from the front door into the sitting room, staring in open-mounted horror at where Lucy lay in a crumpled, unmoving heap in the entryway. Luca stared down at the little redhead for a moment, checking to make sure that she was truly unconscious, before he lifted his head, and met Lizzie’s eyes with a huge, face splitting grin. 

“Hello, Lizzie.” 

There were three men crowded in behind him, and behind his elbow, she spotted the face of her gardener peering in at her. 

The phone call. She only vaguely could recall him coming in, the hum of his voice from the kitchen while she was busy with Lucy in the sitting room. Oh, God… 

Staggering back a few steps, she turned to run towards the backdoor, but only got so far as the sitting room before skidding to a halt at the crunch of wood splintering as the door was kicked in, two Italians shouldering past the wrecked wood to block her way out. 

“Get that to the car,” Luca snapped his fingers, nodding at Lucy. “And don’t forget to bind her hands and feet. I want one of you watching her at all times in case she wakes up.” 

“No–” Lizzie took a step forward, as if there was anything she could possibly do to stop them. Luca’s gaze shot back up to her, and with another grin, he stepped over Lucy while the men behind him grabbed her by the shoulders and started to drag her away.

“How lucky for you that she was the one who opened the door,” he started conversationally. Lizzie’s hands were shaking, her knees unsteady. Luca took an advancing step closer, fully entering the sitting room, and Lizzie took another back in response, keeping ample space between. Luca seemed unbothered by the action. 

“It’s nice to finally make your acquaintance. My brother was so taken with you, he wrote about you often enough in his letters to me, I feel like I almost know you myself.” The sparkle of taunting glee was still in his eyes, but underneath, Lizzie saw fiery rage. “You do remember my little brother, don’t you, Lizzie?” 

The mention of Angel was enough to make her stomach turn with guilt. Poor, poor Angel. She’d been trying to get over Tommy, since at the time he’d been engaged to Grace and happy with his newborn boy. And Angel had been there, this sweet Italian boy who doted on her, and who she had genuinely thought that she’d started to love. 

But not enough. Not enough for her to quit her job with the Shelbys so that they could be together. Not enough to keep her from breaking up with him when tensions rose between the two families. Not enough for her to mourn all that long after John and Arthur slit his throat. Not enough for her to stop working for his killers. Not enough to say no when Tommy and Lucy had started coming to her again for sex. 

“Yes. Yes, of course I remember Angel. I’m so sorry about what happened–”

Luca continued to grin, but his eyes were deep dark pits of hate. “And yet, you’ve had no problem running around with the men who killed him.” He took another step closer. 

She was shaking like a leaf and didn’t know how to stop. Tears started to roll down her cheeks. “I’m sorry–” she tried again.

Like a jaguar, Luca suddenly lunged at her with inhuman speed. His hand latched onto her throat, her back slamming into the wall hard enough to knock the wind from her lungs, and immediate panic zigzagged through her. 

No, no, not my baby. Please don’t hurt my baby.

“I don’t want to hear your fucking apologies!” he roared in her face, hot breath fanning across her cheeks. “I want my fucking family back!”

“Please,” she managed to catch her breath enough to be able to speak, but his hand was tight enough around her throat that it made drawing in air difficult. “Please, don’t hurt me.”

“Mr. Changretta.” It was her gardener, hovering by the sofa, clutching his dirty gloves. Luca growled in annoyance, fingers flexing against Lizzie’s throat. 

“Matteo, get this man paid and out of here–”

“Mr. Changretta, she’s pregnant,” the gardener interpreted. “I heard Winters say something about it.”

Luca froze, his eyes shifting back to Lizzie, like a shark that had just caught the scent of blood in the water. His jaw twitched, teeth grinding together. She could see something click behind his eyes, and her terror tripled. 

“Whose?” he asked, grip tightening around her neck. If she made it out of this alive, she would for certain have bruises all up and down the column of her pale throat. 

“Please…” she sobbed. 

“Tommy Shelby bought you this fucking house…” Luca’s eyes swept across the sitting room. “Despite you recently leaving his employment.”

“I’m sorry–”

“Is it his!?”

He’s going to kill me, she thought, panic intensifying. “Yes,” she whispered, tears still rolling down her cheeks.

Luca laughed, and it was the worst sound Lizzie had ever heard. “Well, well. How nice that is for you. Congratulations,” his words dripped with sarcasm and venom. “Still a whore, I see. No matter what you prefer to fancy yourself as these days.” He looked over his shoulder, towards the front door where his men had taken Lucy out to where Lizzie had to presume the car was. His face swung back around to hers. “Does Winters know? Is that why she came here?”

Lizzie just whimpered, pressing her lips together. His fingers were digging so hard against her windpipe that she doubted she could have spoken if she’d wanted to. Luca’s face contracted, smile dropping way to a look of pure hatred, his hands squeezed hard enough to completely cut off any more oxygen, and Lizzie let out a soft choking sound. But a moment later, he let her go, and her head fell forward as she coughed and wheezed, lungs expanding as she hastily sucked in air. Luce seized her by the cheeks instead, tilting her head up until the back of her skull rested against the wall. 

“Hm…in light of this…new information, I’m going to change my plans for you. You see, I was planning to let my boys here,” he nodded to the men guarding the back exit, “smack you around a little. I would like to kill you for this. And maybe someday I will.” He leaned forward, until their noses were almost touching. “After Mr. Shelby is dead. Maybe I’ll kill you and your child. Maybe I’ll kill you and take the child into my family.” He shrugged. “I suppose that we’ll just have to wait and see.” 

Lizzie felt a burst of frantic protectiveness for the tiny life growing inside of her, manifesting itself in a ferocious glare that made Luca chuckle. 

“But not today. I made a deal, you see, with Mr. Shelby, not to harm any children. Vile as his spawn may be. Our people have traditions of honor. I’d hate for him to think that I’d gone back on my word.” His face retreated from hers, though his hand remained, squeezing crushingly at her cheeks, pushing her head painfully against the wall. “As for Miss. Winters, she’s coming with us. She and I have unfinished business. You can tell Tommy that we took her. Or not.”

Lizzie’s eyes widened at the suggestion; at the choice he was offering her. 

“The decision is yours. Either way,” Luca shrugged, “he won’t be able to find her until it’s too late.” He laughed. “Really, you should be thanking me. Seems like by getting rid of her, I may be solving a very irksome problem for you.”

When she said and did nothing, his smile fell, and he leaned in close again, speaking in a hoarse, hissing whisper.

“Remember, once all the Shelbys are gone, I’ll be coming for you.” His hand dropped suddenly away, her head falling forward and away from the wall in surprise at no longer having his palm holding her in place. 

“Please, don’t–” she started to beg. But Luca’s hand snapped forward, smashing the back of her head brutally against the wall, and the world fell away to blackness. 

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[wickmitz]

every time i reread lackadaisy i become stronger about my conviction that fans are WAY too harsh on mitzi and misunderstand her completely. you go online and see people treating her like satan incarnate when she’s genuinely just a person who’s grieving and lost. her and mordecai are two sides of the same coin and it’s crazy that people are kinder to him ( when he kills people, brutally, all the time and without remorse ) but never to her … like the things i’ve seen people accuse her of is baffling enough to make me wonder if i’m genuinely misreading the text tbh. even her character sheet on the lackadaisy website says this :

cannot stress enough everything we’ve seen from mitzi and know about her, both in the past and present, proves she was a tender hearted sort of person. she is not ruthless or cruel naturally, and has to continuously decide to commit to the harsh edges she’s desperately trying to wear. she’s selfish, yes, and does have her own myriad of flaws -- but she’s hardly some manipulative mastermind with no warmth in her heart. and knowing this makes her arc and her scenes ache all the more for it tbh

[kavehater]

Chappel Roan saying she’s sad she’s demisexual and then there’s me being aroace as a whole like don’t you think I’m even more sad 😭

[quietwingsinthesky]

there’s a progression in there, somewhere, of even going from ‘the master might kill me any day now :(‘ to ‘the master is going to kill me :) she’s not going to let someone else do it after all this time’

[aleeyenn]

Can you talk about more your headcannon about Tree and his relationship with Leafy

sure!!! i’ll try to keep it short (also shout out to my friend max for a bunch of these ideas he’s the one who made me like this headcanon and gave me all the juice max if you’re reading HAAAY!)

i like to think of tree as an older sibling to leafy but he’s super protective of her they’re close and love each other a bunch but they have disagreements especially revolving around firey because tree thinks firey is a bad person/influence on leafy because of what happened between them even after their problem was solved leafy of course still goes out with firey even tho tree disapproves and he is always sour about it but deep down he’s only like that because he’s worried firey is gonna take leafy away from him But of course! the problem will be solved eventually and they’ll talk it out and it’ll all be happy and nice i can never leave a story with a bad ending TEEHEE but yeah…

here is some old stuff i did with tjem!

[welcometobrightvale]

every day they release more neopass prizes and every day i am tempted to just convert my account. but im so so scared of getting locked out so i never do

[bushido-jack]

//my favorite thing lately has been scrubbing the internet for decades old samurai jack edits and amvs and watching them. there’s so much love for samurai jack in them, faith that he would be back to finish his tale one day, and it fits perfectly with the time it came out lol. the edits aren’t as great as they would be with technology nowadays and the music is often linkin park but there’s always an open love for Jack and the series in there. and there’s something about seeing people love Jack even when it’s not at it’s most angsty, when it’s just seasons 1-4, without the novelty, without anything else to focus on but what makes Jack Jack.