#and ANOTHER first kiss drawing where it's ME being the impulsive little fool

[ddarker-dreams]

Levi Ackerman x Reader hcs. [COMM]

a/n: i haven’t written for levi in many years!! some lock lore is that i used to write for him the most, it’s actually what got me into fanfiction/anime in the first place back in 2012... so it feels very nice to write for him again. i had a lot of fun with this! :’) word count: 2k. warnings: non explicit mentions of death (not involving reader), just canon typical stuff.

Love has been a concept that remains closed off in Levi’s mind. Getting close to others is already a risk too great in the world he’s come to know, a factor that’s proven unfortunately true time and time again. When you’re close to others, it means the possibility of being hurt by them all the same when they inevitably leave. The pain of losing another he’s grown attached to outweighs the possible benefits that could come with a closer connection. This philosophy has ensnared his heart, creating a barrier that no one dared slipping past for many years.

Even though Levi makes the choice to be wary of growing closer than necessary to people, he also understands the importance of trusting in his comrades. He has his own way of mentally assessing new recruits, and didn’t think much of you initially. You were a fresh face, who hoped that your efforts would cultivate humanity’s future. He’d seen many with that spark too many times to count. All of them ending up killed in gruesome ways, or losing the shine in their eyes should they live past another expedition. Though he still has an inherent respect for anyone willing to put their lives on the line for the Survey Corps, this extending to you as well.

His initial assessment of you was proven incorrect. While no longer as naive to the horrors of the outside world, the spark inside of you remains ever bright. There’s determination, that has only grown in strength as time goes on, rather than fading away. It catches his eye, to say the least. He looks after you from afar, without even realizing it. Levi tells himself that it’d just be a shame if something happened to you. He doesn’t think anything beyond that for some time, for his own mental well being.

Your relationship starts off with no romantic intentions. Levi spots you training on your own one day, even after a grueling day of menial work that comes with being a member of the Survey Corps. He’s captivated, unable to look away from your form. It’s sloppy, he thinks, but not hopeless. You’re not hopeless. It doesn’t sound like a high compliment, but coming from him, it’s meaningful.

It’s startling when he approaches you for the first time. He’s pointing out the numerous errors in your stance and what to do to correct them, never mincing his words. Levi’s standing there, arms crossed, willing you to continue with his input. While being under the scrutiny of humanity’s strongest soldier is anxiety inducing, his advice works perfectly. He doesn’t comment further than that, turning on his heels and leaving you to your thoughts and confusion.

Keeping your body in the best possible condition is vital to staying alive. His advice, though delivered in sharp as knives critiques, serves you well. Even just the bare minimum has your technique rapidly improving. This motivation to keep growing and learning is what drives you. Levi continues to watch from a safe distance as you spend hours doing different exercises, developing your abilities. From this point on it becomes something of a tradition, as much as he tries not to think of it that way. There’s a level of subconscious attachment that comes with looking forward to seeing you improve every evening. He’s acknowledged you. 

You start training together. It’s not everyday an opportunity to learn under Levi is offered, so when the hand was extended to you, you accepted it. He’s a tough yet fair teacher, offering praise only when he believes it’s deserved. Unfortunately, he can’t devote that much time to your little evenings due to his other obligations. That makes the time you shared all the more special. Despite himself, he’s looking out for you, and you him. A solid relationship begins to form.

Levi isn’t the easiest person to be around. He’s surprisingly talkative if you get him speaking on subjects that interest him, but his language remains coarse. Once you get used to this side of him, it’s for the better, hours flying by and the night sky appearing before you know it. Unlike others that tend to get offended or avoid alone time with Levi due to his reputation, you remain constant. He never brings it up, though he does wonder why you’re hellbent on seeking him out.

There are still times where Levi holds an internal battle over the unfolding events. He’s starting to like spending time with you, more than just offering wisdom on various subjects he’s knowledge about. He genuinely enjoys listening when you speak, an honor exclusive to you. Through the snark and monotonous comments, there’s clear attachment. 

It gets to the point that his closer comrades even pick up on the unusual behavior, this level of respect typically reserved for no one other than Commander Erwin. Though Hanji is the only one to point this behavior out. Everyone else is too frightened at the prospect of teasing Levi over his not so subtle fondness for you. He really didn’t think he was being so obvious... 

You’re on his mind more than he cares to admits. His mind wonders to you at night, when he’s in town, or even when he sees something silly that reminds him of you. Eventually, Levi’s thoughts almost always connect to you to some degree. He’ll spot something in the windows of a shop and recall how you mentioned wanting something similar, or subconsciously look for your favorite food when walking through market stalls. The thought of giving you gifts is off putting for a while since it’s a clear sign of of tenderness. And dammit, he’s trying so hard not to become attached -- but who is he kidding -- it’s far too late for that.

What Levi is good at is making swift decisions in the heat of the moment, and combat. So he has literally no idea how to approach his developing feelings for you. There are a lot of impulses, such as complimenting you, but it comes out more like an insult than anything. God bless your soul, because you’re going to be putting up with lots of uncomfortable interactions. He’s trying, okay, but he doesn’t know the first thing about romance. 

How he best shows his care for you is helping around in various ways. It isn’t as embarrassing as having to offer compliments, or the other traditional ways of romancing the person you’re interested in. Levi commits to making your life easier in anyway he can. These things range from making sure your horse is in top condition, setting aside rations if he knows you’re too busy to get them yourself, and checking over your equipment personally. He presents all this by saying “You’re prone to making mistakes, so let me do it instead.” In reality he just wants to make life easier for you, don’t be fooled by the prickly comment. 

He isn’t blind to the other elements of his attraction to you. You’re always glowing, an angel incarnate, beauty enough to draw in practically anyone with eyes. It was enough to draw him in after all. The first attempts at physical affection are subtle, yet heartfelt. Sitting closer to you, thighs almost touching. Leaning in closer whenever you speak. Lightly brushing his fingers against his face, claiming he saw a spec of dirt on it. All these things to gauge your reaction and build up his own confidence in pursuing you further.

The first time you kiss would be the night before an expedition. It’s always the most gut wrenching experience, anxiety ailing you so badly that sleep refuses to come. The stars are out, not a cloud in the sky. Levi comes to sit by you, chastising you for not being asleep, and offering no rebuttal when you point out that he’s also awake. It’s a serene moment, neither of you exchanging words for some time, finding comfort in each others presence. You don’t even realize how close he is to you. He speaks, the words insignificant, you’ve already long forgot what they were. 

When your head turns to offer him your full attention, that’s when he leans in. A chaste kiss is pressed against your parted lips. It’s shocking to say the least, adrenaline pumping through your veins at the intimate moment. His lips are softer than you expected. He treats you with unprecedented delicacy, moving back to assess your expression through lidded eyes. When you’re willing to reciprocate he’s more than happy to let you have your way. 

Levi isn’t the best with expressing himself fully through words. His actions more than compensate for this, you’ll never doubt his dedication to you. There’s no need for flowery prose, not when he has proven the lengths he’d go through to keep you safe, bearing all of himself to you. Your relationship isn’t defined by strict terminology, as he admitted to finding stuff like that “a waste of breath”. You both wordlessly acknowledge one another as partners. Any keen onlooker might be able to pick up on this, you don’t hide or put your relationship on display.

It’ll take some time for him to grow more amiable to physically expressing himself. He’s aware of his own strength and intimidating disposition, and doesn’t want to mess what’s possibly the best thing in his life up. So you’ll need to lead in most of those areas. All physical affection is reserved for private moments. Aside from maybe him whispering a sly remark or two in passing. 

The affection he likes receiving from you the most would be: Complimenting his actions, when you lay your head on his shoulder, whenever you do little things to help him out without him mentioning it, and when you hug him. He’s never experienced being held by another human being. So when you do it for the first time, he’s taken aback by how pleasant it is. Your comforting scent, how your warmth envelopes him, and how he can feel your heart beating. It’s one of his favorite things in the world, other than you of course.

The type of affection that he gives you the most would be: Acknowledging your growth in different areas (especially if he knows you’re insecure in one of them), putting his hand over yours, reminding you to take care of yourself, and kissing you on the forehead. Levi is a very proactive lover. He’s got a keen eye, picking up on things about yourself before you even notice them. While he might not always have the most tact, everything he does for you comes from a wholesome place.

Levi remains serious in the public eye. But when it’s just the two of you, or the company is people he’s close with, he loosens up considerably. Most of his jokes go over your head, since he always delivers them with such a deadpan. When he gets you to laugh with his dry wit though, by god does it feel good, he could listen to your laughter forever. It might even make his face heat up. 

You’re capable of making him smile more than anyone else! Though it’s still rare, that just means that when he does, you treasure it all the more. He smiles the most when you lose yourself in conversation. Rambling about your dreams, stories from your childhood, frustrating encounters that you had that day... all of it warms his heart in a way he never thought possible. You’re an addicting ray of sunshine, that he’s hellbent on protecting. 

Levi knows, now more than ever, what he wants from the future. Alongside protecting and expanding humanity’s territory, it’s you that he wants by him, and no cost is too great to achieve it. He won’t lose you -- he’s already lost so much -- so expect him to be protective. There may be limits to what he can do, but they’re all arbitrary to him. Rules and morality mean nothing in the face of ensuring your safety, and he’s vowed this to you. That one day, you’ll have a secure future, forever tied to each other. He might not mention the last part as it’s embarrassing, but the general sentiment is understood. 

#levi #levi ackerman #levi x reader #levi x you #levi ackerman x reader #Attack on Titan Imagine #attack on titan #attack on titan x reader #aot #aot x reader #aot x you #shingeki no kyojin #shingeki no kyoujin x reader #snk x reader #my stuff #commissions

[tulipsandcorgis]

Hii , hope you're well

Since you're open to crazy prompts i would like to contribute one!

What if Kate goes to duel someone who tries to take advantage of Edwina? And Edwina obviously panics and goes to the Bridgerton for help and she gathers all the Bridgerton brothers to go and stop Kate. Anthony's obviously furious because she's willing to kill herself (hypocrite) and drags them all back to his lodgings.

I'm sorry if its such a long prompt i simply had to share the idea! Thank you for all your fics!!

unsurprisingly, a long (and very interesting) prompt results in a long(-ish) answer! so here’s 1.5k words of anthony not realizing he’s afraid to lose kate, colin contributing very little to the conversation, and benedict and edwina just going along for the ride, i suppose. also featuring brief appearances by daphne and lady danbury, and mentions of an original(-ish) character. not sure if this 100% works with the canon timeline, since this is set before anything happens between kate and anthony (aka no kiss in the study has happened yet).

anyway, thank you so much for trusting me with your idea! without further ado, here it is:

“She did what?” Anthony exclaimed, staring at Edwina with a wide-eyed expression on his face. The crease between his eyebrows had deepened significantly, and it almost looked as if he were about to pop a vein in his forehead.

“Well, we were just preparing to leave Lady Trowbridge’s ball tonight — you were there, too. As were you, and you.” Edwina said hurriedly, glancing at Benedict and Colin. “And Kate saw Lord Mountbatten approach me, and before I knew it, she’d challenged him to a duel.”

“Why?” Benedict questioned, having clearly not witnessed the encounter, and Anthony gritted his teeth.

“Edwina, forgive my language, but you sister is a bloody fool.” He spat, clenching his jaw and massaging his temples with his thumb and forefinger.

Edwina paid no attention to his comment, and turned to Benedict. “He gripped my waist quite hard, you see, and made some comment about how lovely our children would be, and then Kate appeared. I’ve never seen her so furious. And then, well, she said something along the lines of wanting to demand satisfaction.”

She shuddered at the memory of Mountbatten’s mouth near her ear during a dance, his calloused palms gripping her waist with much more force than was strictly necessary. But then, much to her relief, Kate had showed up.

Benedict’s face contorted into a look of genuine disgust, and Colin’s eyebrows raised.

“Well, where is she?” He asked, almost conversationally, as if absolutely nothing was wrong. Anthony pondered fratricide for a brief moment. “I could always be her second.”

“You will do no such thing,” Anthony interrupted, glaring at his brother before turning back to the group. “This is madness. Mountbatten is a skilled marksman. With his finger on the trigger, Kate would die before the ten paces are even up!”

Edwina gasped. “We need to find her, quickly.”

Benedict patted her shoulder softly. “We will, don’t worry.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, brother.” Anthony snapped, before grabbing Edwina’s hand and leading her out of the study. “Now, I suppose we should find your sister before she gets herself killed.”

“Daphne told me that she and Kate were heading over to Lady Danbury’s after the ball,” Colin supplied. “Given these… unforeseen circumstances, we don’t know if she’s still there, but it wouldn’t hurt to check.”

Much to everyone’s relief. Anthony agreed, and the group quickly made their way to Lady Danbury’s residence, with Colin still offering advice, probably to ease Edwina’s anxiety.

“You know, I could still be her second,” He offered, turning to Edwina. “After all, I do know where Anthony keeps the pistols.”

The girl’s eyes widened in surprised, and Anthony frowned. “If anyone is to be her second, it will be me.” He said firmly. “Seeing as Benedict and I are the only two people here who actually know the rules of dueling.”

Colin rolled his eyes. “If you’re talking about the incident with Hastings, I was also there,” He reminded his brother, but Anthony was having none of it.

He picked up his pace, relieved to see that Danbury’s house was in view. Benedict, Colin, and Edwina struggled to keep up as Anthony practically raced across the cobblestones, bounded up the steps, and pounded on the front door.

“Christ, you’re going to give Lady Danbury a heart attack,” Colin muttered, and Anthony shot him a look.

A footman opened the door, and Anthony practically pushed past him, leading Edwina through the house, with the other two brothers hot on their heels.

In the dimly lit drawing room, the only light coming from a roaring fire in the fireplace, sat Lady Danbury, Daphne, and Kate.

“Ah, Bridgertons!” Lady Danbury grinned, nodding at Edwina. “And a Sharma, as well. Come to collect your sisters, I presume?”

Benedict muttered a quick, “Something of that sort,” as Anthony said, with the last shred of politeness left in his body, “I’m afraid we don’t have time for small talk tonight, Lady Danbury.”

He shot the older woman a strained smile, then turned his attention to Kate, who sat on the sofa with Daphne at her side. He shooed his sister away, and ushered her and everyone else, except for Kate and Edwina, from the room. Now it was just him, the Sharma sisters, and Anthony’s rage — which burst from him as soon as the drawing room door clicked shut.

“What on earth do you think you’re playing at?” He hissed, his eyes burning with a fire that was similar to the very one roaring on the coals in the fireplace. “Your sister—“ He pointed at Edwina. “She arrives at Bridgerton House and tells me you’ve demanded to duel with Lord Mountbatten!”

Kate rolled her eyes and stood. “He—“

“He made a comment to your sister, yes, but that is hardly something to duel over, Miss Sharma. Do you know Lord Mountbatten is one of the best marksmen in the ton?”

“No,” She said, eyeing him closely. “But—“

“He can kill you, Kate.” Anthony told her, his voice deathly serious, and her eyes widened. “Kill. You.” He repeated, either to get the words through her silly skull, or, perhaps, his.

Anthony stepped closer, his manners being swallowed up by the anger and fear growing in his chest. “He would aim that tiny bullet right here—“ He pointed to a spot just below her collarbone. “And you’d be gone before the doctor on site could get to you.”

She swallowed thickly, lowering her eyes to where his finger hovered in the air, just several inches from her skin. The air crackled with something electric and unsaid, and Anthony felt his jaw unclench as he lowered his hand.

“That won’t happen.” Kate said finally, looking past him, at her sister.

“You don’t know that.” He barked out a twisted sort of laugh, the sound almost getting caught in his throat. “If you did, you wouldn’t have demanded satisfaction in the first place. Seriously, what were you thinking?”

He turned away, his eyes burning from something that must have been the smoke from the fireplace - nothing else could’ve caused it, he was convinced - and looked at Edwina. Whatever words he intended on saying were forgotten once he heard Kate’s unforgettably calm voice reach his ears.

“Lord Bridgerton—“

“Miss Sharma, you must know that there is a person in this room who is very intent on not losing you!” He cried out angrily, interrupting her and effectively silencing both sisters. The only sounds in the room were the crackling of the fire, his pocket watch ticking, and his heavy breathing. He sighed.

“I know that your sister would rather you not die because of your protective and impulsive nature. My sister felt the same about me just a year ago.” Anthony admitted, looking down at his boots.

“And I realize that.” Kate responded quietly. “Which is why I rescinded my demand for satisfaction as the ball came to a close. Lord Mountbatten was… strangely understanding, and admitted that his comment was made impulsively, as well. Everything is more than alright now.”

“Oh.” Anthony said aloud, and Edwina breathed a sigh of relief, rushing forward to hug her sister.

“Well, Mountbatten’s foot isn’t,” Kate mumbled as she hugged Edwina, a devilish sort of smile spreading across her face as she caught his eye.

Anthony bit his lip to keep a laugh from escaping him. Good God, how many toes had she stepped on?

Soon after that, as he led the sisters to the drawing room door, Kate nudged his arm with her elbow.

“Why’d you do that?” She asked. “You know, come here to save me from death and whatnot?”

Anthony paused. He didn’t know how to respond. He really didn’t know why he was so set on stopping Kate from dueling. Was it because he knew how quickly one’s life could change due to a single moment, how a family could be irreparably altered by death? Or, perhaps, it was because he was so desperate for her to stop objecting to his suit of Edwina.

“Well,” He said, stalling slightly. “I suppose it’s because I care.”

“Oh.” She sounded genuinely surprised.

“About your sister.” Anthony finished, trying to ignore the way her face hardened. “Losing someone can be terribly difficult, and I would never want my future wife to known that kind of pain so soon.”

Edwina would have to accept his death in nine years, at most, but it wouldn’t matter all that much, since they weren’t likely to get very attached to one another.

“So you wanted to be a hero?” Kate muttered, walking through the doorway and joining Benedict, Colin, Daphne, Edwina, and Lady Danbury.

“I suppose.” He shrugged, and she rolled her eyes.

“Well, you’re not one yet. Keep trying, I suppose,” She replied, before taking Edwina’s arm and heading to the front door, with Daphne in tow. For a brief moment, Anthony wished that he could accompany the sisters home, instead of his sister.

And as he bid Lady Danbury goodbye, prepared to walk back to Bridgerton House to drop off Benedict and Colin, and finally head to his own lodgings, he was struck by the oddest feeling that when he became a hero, Kate would be there to see it.

#bridgerton #bridgerton fic #anthony x kate #kate x anthony #kathony #kanthony #anthony bridgerton #kate sharma #edwina sharma #benedict bridgerton #colin bridgerton #daphne bridgerton #lady danbury #*my asks #*my writing #anthony: you must know that there is a person in this room who is very intent on not losing you! #me: hey buddy you forgot to mention edwina!! ;)) #he’s such a clown… might as well just call him ‘clownthony’ #also #lord mountbatten is based on the guy of the same name from the crown #i imagine him as being way younger (obvs) but still a military freak and a creep :/

[acciomalfoy]

BETROTHED (DRACO MALFOY X READER)

Summary: To avoid you being betrothed to an old man, Draco comes up with a plan.

—

"Dear Y/n, your mother and I have discussed your coming of age in great depth, and we have decided your betrothal has been delayed far too long. We will begin meeting with potential suitors immediately, as far too many eyes are watching us. We're looking forward to seeing you at Christmas. Best wishes, your Father."

I gasped as I crumpled the letter, shoving it deep into my pocket. How could they do this? I knew I shouldn't have opened anything from them in the Great Hall, but as the tears fell, I only just remembered why. I stood up quickly and walked as fast as I could out of the Hall. As soon as I was out, I broke off running, my loud sobs echoing in the castle. Paintings stared at me as I ran past, their disapproving eyes raking me over.

"How did that one get into Slytherin?" I heard one murmur, a snicker followed. I ran straight around one of the corners, and smacked right into someone.

"L/n?" Godric, why? Malfoy held my wrists in front of me, staring into my blotchy face.

"Let go of me." I sniffed, and tried to pull away. His grip only tightened, but his tone softened.

"L/n. What's wrong? Did someone say something to you?" His voice sounded concerned, but this was Draco Malfoy of all people. Did the boy even know what the word meant?

"M-My parents!" Tears rolled down and down my face. I didn't want to be married to a sixty year old man. I wanted to be free to love who I yearned to, like the Weasley's were.

"What about them? Are they okay?" When I lowered my head, he let go of one of my wrists to lift it.

"They're betrothing me!" I wiped my nose and another round of sobs overtook me. Of course, I knew a girl two years below me who was already married off, but for some reason I never thought it would happen to me. One of my friends was, but Tracy swore he was only twenty. A name like Engleberton doesn't sound like it belongs to a twenty year old.

"I'm sorry, L/n. You know, it does happen to pretty much every Slytherin. Who's it to?" And then we were hugging, in the middle of a corridor. I knew his problems were so much bigger than him, or me, but for some reason he was listening to me. He was caring about what I had to say.

"I don't know. They've only just begun the meetings. My life is over!" He patted my back, and I tried not to cry on him, I really did. But then my nose and my eyes were leaking, me being powerless to stop them.

"How would you feel about being betrothed to someone in Hogwarts." His head leant on mine, and I really didn't know what was happening.

"Pretty much every pureblood is inbred here. I think I'm the only one who isn't. If only Pansy's parents weren't cousins, maybe she wouldn't have that nose." He stepped back, and looked at me.

"I'm not." He murmured, and I almost had to lean forward to hear it. He wasn't inbred? Damn, could've fooled me.

"Listen, Malfoy. I appreciate it, I really do. I used to have a crush on you, back in third year. The thing is, you've changed. You're a slave, and the binding tattoo on your arm is the only thing stopping me from kissing you right now. I really wish we could have worked through it, but there is no way in hell that I will ever, ever have an allegiance to him. I would rather die." When I jerked my arm back, his fingers fell.

"I'm sorry, Malfoy. I really am." I forgot about the reason he was being nice, and remembered I was probably going to be married to a sixty year old. I shed another tear, and walked away from the saviour. If he couldn't save himself, then he couldn't save me.

"Wait!" He shouted after me, and I turned around in surprise.

"What if I changed sides?" His eyes were wild, and mine widened. Was he..?

"Malfoy, you don't have to do that." I looked at him, the impulsive slytherin, and sighed.

"I do. If I want to have you, then I have to. You said so. I'll go owl mother and, well, I'll see." With that, he turned around and walked away, in a similar way to I had. Except he wasn't crying, or even sniffling. He was being a saviour, and he was trying.

When I turned in the opposite direction, I realised what it meant. He was really trying to protect me. I had always assumed Pansy and Malfoy would end up married with little blonde pug babies. I had never seemed to catch his eye, except now, when it mattered most. I reached into my pocket to pull out the crumpled letter, and reread it. Godric, I hoped Draco would help me.

A week had passed when Pansy came barrelling into the Great Hall, a newspaper clutched in her hand. She was waving it about, and I couldn't hear what she was saying.

"Engaged! Can you believe it?" She shrieked as she passed some students. When her eyes caught mine, she raced over.

"When were you going to tell me? Salazar, Y/n! You know I like him! We were always meant to be together. Fuck, this really stings. You're my best friend, how could you do this?" Her eyes started watering, and I snatched the newspaper out of her hand.

"The Malfoys and L/n's exciting news? What the fuck?" I skimmed the front page, and I felt bile rising in my throat.

"Oh my Godric, I'm-I'm going to be sick!" I looked around desperately, but I couldn't see a single thing nearby that I could throw up in.

"L/n!" Malfoy was yelling at me, and as soon as I saw him I couldn't help it. My vomit flew all over him, and I stared at him.

"How could you? You evil bastard!" I shouted at him before shouldering him as I ran past. Fucking cow! How on earth could he do this? Deep down, I already knew what I was going to do. If my betrothed was a death eater, then I would have to talk to Harry. Harry Potter could help me, he would have to help me.

I knew where the Gryffindor common room was, thanks to being study partners with Hermione. Smartest girl I've ever known. I ran up the stairs, swallowing the taste of vomit in my throat. I cast a quick spell, and the scent vanished, as well as my uniform being cleaned up. I knocked desperately on the portrait, and a first year opened it.

"I need Harry." If Harry came, then I knew the other two would. Sure enough, Harry was in the middle, the other two flanking him.

"Y/n! I heard the news! Are you okay?" He was hugging me, and I was reminded of how sweet he was.

"No, I'm not. Malfoy's a death eater, I'm sure you already suspected it. I told him last week I wasn't getting married to him if he was on that side, and he said he would change sides. He hasn't, and I haven't heard anything to show that he is. I need your help to put him on the right path, or I'm going to have to leave Hogwarts. Permanently. I'll be running away if I have to marry a death eater." I said it quickly, but the golden trio caught every word. Hermione's hand went to her mouth, but it was more in horror than surprise.

"We suspected, but we didn't know for sure." Hermione said, looking at me quite sadly.

"We have to go to Dumbledore. He can help us. Draco can join the order-" Harry began.

"No, Harry. For Malfoy to join the order, he has to be one hundred percent loyal. He has to go against everything he's been taught, and the very role he is destined to fill. He has to abandon his family, unless they are willing also. This is incredibly serious. We have to talk to him first." Hermione finished. Harry nodded slowly.

"I'll check the map." He turned around, and I watched his retreating figure as he went up the stairs.

"Thank you guys. You're seriously the best. I can't tell you how much I appreciate it." Ron looked uncomfortable, but Hermione smiled back. They gestured for me to come inside, and the portrait closed behind me.

"It would be an incredible advantage to have the Malfoy's on our side. That's practically an unlimited funding, and with their high status they may be the deciding factor in whether other families join us. I only hope we can convince them." Hermione brushed a hair out of her face as Harry came thundering down the stairs.

"He's in Dumbledore's office!" Harry pointed at his name, and I stared. He was doing it. I didn't know why he was trying so hard to help me. I couldn't help but wonder if he had ulterior motives. Malfoy has hardly noticed me, I'm not sure he's uttered a word to me. And now? Now he's going to the ends of the earth for me. I didn't know what to think.

"He must really care for you." Hermione put a hand on my shoulder, and I nodded, swallowing thickly.

"I know it's horrible of me to wonder, but he hasn't shown any interest in me for the five and a half years that we've been at Hogwarts. Surely, if he was doing all this to help me, he would have?" I looked wildly at the three best friends, and they gazed back at me, almost pityingly.

"He has, Y/n. He really has." Ron said. I shook my head.

"He hasn't. He seriously hasn't." Ron laughed, but his heart wasn't in it.

"In first year, I called you Malfoy's girlfriend when he was picking on us. He screamed at me, and then he threatened to snap my wand if I said your name again." Ron looked almost spooked at the memory, and I rolled my eyes.

"That's him being protective of a fellow Slytherin, not him having a crush." Hermione raised her eyebrows, and I raised mine back.

"Fine. I caught him doodling your name and his, with hearts around them." Hermione looked smug, and I laughed.

"Probably drawing crosses through my name." They all sighed.

"D'you remember last time gryffindor versed slytherin? When Malfoy fell off his broom?" Godric, how could I forget? He had an empty look in his eyes, and it scared me.

"Yeah?" I didn't know how on earth they could relate this one to me.

"He was making fun of me, so I told him I had a crush on you. I said something like, after I ask Y/n to celebrate gryffindor winning, we'll see who's laughing. I think that's what I said. He went completely white, even paler than normal. Then a gust of wind came, and it was like he wanted to fall. He let the wind take him." Harry looked at me, and I knew, deep down, he was telling the truth. A knock at the portrait interrupted us. I moved aside, and Hermione opened it. She stared.

"Who is it? Oh, blimey." Ron took a peek, and he didn't like what he saw. I poked my head around to see Malfoy. His eyes caught mine, and I looked away to see his robes were no longer covered in vomit. Good for him.

"Y/n, please come talk to me." My first name sounded foreign on his tongue. I looked at my friends, and despite their hatred for Malfoy, they nodded. I stepped hesitantly, and the portrait closed behind me. He gestured for me to walk with him, so I did.

"I owled my mother last week, like I told you. She didn't reply, and when the newspaper was released this morning I found out, just like everyone else. I know you're not willing to be a slave to Him like the rest of my family, and I agree. I've been given a task by Him, and I don't intend on doing it. I talked to my mother in a firecall this morning, and they are moving into a location known only to them, and the secret keeper, much like Potter's parents. They'll be protected there, and I'm protected here. I'm trying to fix this, Y/n, I really am." It was a lot of information, and he took my hand as he was speaking. The Malfoy's were going into hiding. That alone was massive. Their assets must have been frozen and transferred, so He can't access the funding. I looked at him, and squeezed his hand.

"Thank you, Malfoy. It really does mean a lot. I have to ask you, why are you doing this?" We stopped walking, and he looked down.

"I've had a crush on you since first year, and I've wanted you for three." Godric knew what he meant by 'want'. I kissed him, right there in the middle of the hall, because his nose was dotted in faint freckles, and never before had someone been so determined to help me.

He kissed me back.

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #slytherin #harry potter

[infernwetrust]

Wandering Eyes [Michael Langdon x Fem Reader] Pt 1.

PART 2

Summary: The one where Michael catches your attention in his outpost and an underlying tension brews between the two of you. 2 part series.

Warnings: semi-smut, angst, swearing

WC: 2.05k

You were never the type to snoop around. You were usually pretty good about minding your business. You ate the food, you listened to the stupid rules, and you made sure to remain abstinent. That was, until, the anti-christ showed up and it all changed. He peaked your curiosity unlike any other man. You studied him and his every move. You watched as he sauntered around the outpost , intimidating everyone that he decided to keep alive just a little longer, with just his mere presence. And while everyone refrained from looking him in his eyes, how could you? Those ocean blue eyes were more than enough to draw you into him. There was no doubt in your mind that you wanted this man. You wanted him to touch you, to tease you, and to violate you, but just like everyone else, you kept your distance, out of fear. There were times where you would walk by his office and he would leave his door open just enough. It wasn't like he didn't know what all was going on around him, anyways. And like a fool, you'd peak your head in there. He caught you a few times and of course you ran off. He liked that. He could tell that you were interested in him.

You recall the night that you were walking down the hallway, back to your room. Everything was routine as usual, with mostly everyone in bed. As you made it half way down the hall, getting closer to Michael's room, where you hoped, the door was cracked once again, you heard soft moans and low groans. And when you got there, his room door was more than just a little bit cracked. It was wide open and there he was. He stood at the end of his bed, naked, with the known compost slut, giving him oral sex. Immediately sensing your presence, he looked up at you and the two of you made eye contact. Your breath hitched in your throat and his stared deeply into your soul. A wicked grin slowly made way across his face. Grabbing the girls head, he pushed it back and forth on his length faster, moaning louder, the faster he moved her head. He never broke eye contact with you and you never broke eye contact with him. It was almost as if you couldn't move. It was almost as if he was holding you in his trance, forcing you to watch, what he knew, you wanted so desperately. He continued to lock eyes with you, biting down on his lip. You could feel yourself soaking through your panties as you watched him be pleasured by another, wishing it was you.

Soaking up all the will power that you could find, you managed to break yourself from his gaze and you ran back to your room. You couldn't get in there fast enough, slamming the door behind you and leaning up against it. Breathless, you were and you slowly slid down the door, clutching your knees to your chest. You were still soaking wet and all you could hear now was Michael's wicked grin as he penetrated your thoughts.

Tonight, however, it was different. Michael was upset and the whole compost was going to know about it. It was between the rapid temperature changes, to his throwing about of the furniture, oh and his personal favorite, torturing the poor souls that couldn't leave this place no matter how much they wanted to or risk the dangers of the world that was now in shambles. Tonight, it was different. Sick and tired of, you decided that you wanted to speak up and speak out. You got tired of being extremely hot or being extremely cold. You got tired of hearing things break while you tried to muster up what ever sleep you could at night. You got tired of hearing the screams of the damned and Michael's laugh as he did it.

"You just have to go out of your way to let the whole fucking outpost know, huh?" you mumbled to yourself as you went to pick up your fork. Unfortunately, he heard you. And of course, he didn't like what he heard. Before you could even blink, everyone else around you was gone. Michael had made them disappear. They would be back later. He slammed his hands down on the table in front of you, fury in his eyes, as he met your gaze. You flinched, hard as he swiped everything that was in front of you off the table and onto the ground.

"You..." he said, jaw clenched. "I take you. And I let you stay in my fucking outpost and you think you can disrespect me like this?!"

"Get a grip, Michael. You're here, trying to bring about this "new world" and as far as I'm concerned, nothing has change. We're all just going to die here right?" Before you could even get another word out of your mouth, he had you by the throat, pinned up against the wall. You were afraid, but the lust in you was burning. He squinted his eyes at you, cocking his head to the side.

"Bold all of a sudden are we?" He tightened the grip on your throat. "You watch my every move. And even when I ignore your wandering eyes, you remain so persistent. Yet when faced with adversity, like you are now, you panic."

"I-" you croaked, wanting to get a sentence out, but his only response to your efforts was to squeeze your throat harder. He squeezed just enough to keep you alive, but to also keep you on the brink of death.

"I'm still fucking speaking." he said. "I mean I am right, right? Panicking. That's what you're doing now, correct? Oh Y/N. You're not the first." You grabbed onto his arm, clawing at it, just wanting a little bit more air than he was giving you, but he wasn't going to let up. He finally had you right where he wanted. He was waiting for the day that you decided that you were going to challenge him in his own domain. Believe it or not, you peaked his curiosity too. Plenty of girls that came in and out of Michael's outpost tried to throw themselves at him and some his used to his pleasure. The rest he got annoyed with and just killed, but you were special.

"You're not the first stupid little girl to take an interest in me. I could feel the sexual frustration in the air the moment I laid my eyes on you, but yet you kept away." Tired of watching you semi choke he let go, you gasping for air as you were finally able to take some real breaths. "What changed in you tonight Y/N? Did you get tired of rubbing your little wet cunt about me? Oh and don't lie either. I'll know if you lie." Still coughing, he answered his own question, too impatient to wait for your answer.

"Most of the nights, I would watch you. Don't worry, I was never actually in your room. I'd sit in my chair, close my eyes, and I'd let mind slowly follow yours. And that's how I saw." he walked back over to you, kneeling so that he was eye level with you once again. "And I mean, fuck, you looked so good playing in that pussy of yours. I'd watch and watch and watch, hand down my pants, whispering your name. Do you remember now? Yeah... The little voice that you hear every time you do it, in the back of your head, that's me."

"Fuck you, Michael." was the only thing that you could say once you finally regulated your breathing again.

"Oh, baby, is that what you want?" He moved closer to you, gripping your chin and snapping your head up, holding it in place, so you could continue to look at him. "That's all you've ever wanted since I walked in here, huh?" You snatched your chin away from his hand, glaring at him. You hated that he made you feel this way. You hated that he was so right. "Just be honest with me, Y/N. It could be so simple." He grabbed you by the throat again and your body instantly went back into panic mode, scared that he was going to choke you again. Out of impulse you grab his wrist in an attempt to stop him.

"Ssh. Ssh. Ssh. Don't be afraid, darling. Just tell me how you want to be my little slut. That night, I gave you the chance to be, but like a horny little coward, you ran away. Perhaps I have to work on my technique a little better." He grazed his lips against the side of your cheek, not letting go of your neck. He made his way to ear, giving if soft nibbles, before licking on your earlobe. It sent shivers down your spine and you swear you almost fainted as you became weak underneath his touch. He chuckled quietly to himself as he basically watched you melt from his touch. "I think I'm done speaking. I want to play now."

Catching you off guard, he stood straight up, sweeping you off of your feet, carrying you away bridal style. And with the snap of his fingers, the dining room was back to normal. You could hear the confused voice as Michael carried you away to his bedroom. Using his foot to shut the door behind him, he threw you on the bed, kicking his shoes off and climbing on top of you. He immediately pressed his lips against yours and all of your morals shot out the door. You kissed him back, wrapping your arms around his neck. Or well, at least you tried to. He pinned your arms above your head, shoving his tongue down your throat in a kiss that showed you just how much he wanted to play. Using his own legs, he spread opened yours, planting himself firmly in-between them. You could barely understand what was happening and why it was happening, but none the less, Michael fucking Langdon was giving you his full and undivided attention. You could feel his erection, aching to break through his pants, so naturally, your thrusts you hips upwards, wanting his bulge to connect with your hot core, but he pushes you back down.

"I don't think so." And like magic, he was off of you, you were tied up to his bed and he sat in his chair at the front of the bed, completely naked, showing off his long and thick cock, fully erect. He made sure that your mouth was taped shut, so that you couldn't utter a word. "Let's try this again, shall we?" At the snap of his fingers, you were brought back to that night. A girl appeared in the room with the two of you and without command, she was already on her knees in front of him, giving you a show that you did not want to see. You became enraged, pulling at your restraints, not wanting to see any of it. Again, it wasn't you.

"Look at me, Y/N." he demanded, but he wasn't speaking to you with his mouth. Instead he was speaking to you with his mind, just like he told you he would the countless nights you would moan his name, playing with yourself,  wishing he would visit you in your room at least once. You could resist and you got trapped in him again. "Good... Speak to me with your eyes. Invite me in."

Trapped in him, you listened to his moans and his heavy breathing. This time you didn't fight to break his gaze. He wasn't even blinking as he watched you, squirming around in his seat. His moans got louder and his breathing and panting faster, shorter, and heavier, as he got closer to his climax. All of this was disrupted as Michael abruptly stopped, snapping his head in the direction of his wide open bedroom door. You turned to look too, but there was no one there. Angrily, he pushed the brown haired girl that in between his legs away, grabbing his boxers and pants off the floor before hurrying out the door.

"I sense a disturbance. I'll be back to deal with you shortly."

Taglist: @jimmason @angelicmichael @whatcodysaid

#cody fern #michael langdon #ahs #ahs apocalypse #cody fern imagine #michael langdon imagine #anti christ #american horror story

[aimeelouart]

The Calamity’s Cursed Child, Part 2 - 1672 words, ASGZC, Cursed to Strife continuity

[Part 1] [Read it on Ao3]

--

It turned out that Cloud had showed up in the middle of nowhere, because Zack’s house just so happened to be in the middle of nowhere. Cloud wasn’t too surprised⁠—whatever the details of his curse, it tended to spit him out in the unluckiest possible position. Such as right on top of Strife’s empty grave.

It really was uncanny.

Zack explained, in their brief hike back to the house, that they all preferred the privacy and security of living in the middle of nowhere. They made trips back to civilization occasionally, to see their AVALANCHE friends or get supplies, but for the most part they were self-sufficient. It sounded...nice. Idyllic, almost. Cloud tried not to dwell on that for too long.

They paused at the front door and Zack looked at him nervously. He raised an eyebrow in response. They’re your boyfriends to wrangle, he conveyed with that eyebrow. Zack deflated a little. “Okay,” he said. “Uh. Just...be ready to dodge if you have to.”

Sephiroth moved from standing at his side to standing in front of him protectively, which was...a little trippy, but he rolled with it.

Zack took a deep breath and promptly slammed the door open, hollering “DON’T FREAK OUT!”

Cloud wasn’t entirely sure how that was supposed to help, but it was such a Zack move that he couldn’t help but grin and stifle a snort. Sephiroth was also suppressing a smile.

“What?” came a call from further in the house, laced with alarm.

“Zack what did you do!” someone else called, footsteps pounding down the stairs from the second floor.

“Nothing, just don’t freak out!” Zack said, stopping a few feet in the entryway. Cloud peered curiously out from behind Sephiroth’s towering frame. That was a mistake, maybe. Two sets of eyes from two alarmed former commanders locked on him as they came rushing into the front room.

“You!” they said, nearly as one.

“Seph, look out!” Angeal cried, pulling a broadsword from a nearby rack and blurring forward as Genesis cast a reflexive spell. 

Cloud sighed. Sephiroth raised a Barrier. Zack quickly got between Angeal and the door, parrying with his own broadsword. “What did I literally just say about freaking out!” he scolded.

“Strife is⁠—!”

“He is not Strife,” Sephiroth said firmly, projecting his voice. He held one arm up in a very clearly protective gesture. “Calm down. I know how this looks, but he is not Strife.”

Cloud stepped out from behind Sephiroth so that the other two could see him, keeping his hands loose at his side. If they got a good look at him, they might calm down quicker. Assuming Strife was anything like Sephiroth, his battered clothing and timeworn face would be a very stark difference. He glanced between them and waited patiently.

Angeal’s hostility eased almost immediately, confusion furrowing between his brows. He lowered his broadsword. Genesis took a few seconds longer, eyes sweeping up and down Cloud several times before they settled on his face. Slowly, he frowned.

“I’m not your Strife,” Cloud said simply.

“Yeah!” Zack agreed, bounding over to sling an arm around his shoulders. “Can’t you tell by the cute face? And, you know, the lack of raging insanity and murderous intent?”

“Zack,” Cloud said reprovingly, elbowing his side. “That’s not helpful.”

Angeal huffed a laugh, then looked startled with himself for it. Zack pumped a fist victoriously. “Yes!” He cheered. “Okay, now that no one is trying to kill anyone else, this is Cloud but he’s from a different dimension and he’s going to sleep on the couch until he leaves.”

Cloud sighed and put his face in his hands. Even four hours of sleep was not enough to deal with Zack when he was like this. “Zack, please stop tormenting your boyfriends.”

“Aww, don’t worry Cloudy. They’re used to it!” He leaned in and added, sotto voce, “they’d be way more alarmed if I wasn’t acting like this.”

“Alright, Zack, you’ve made your point,” Genesis said, eyeing Cloud. “Enough with the theatrics. If he is not Strife, he deserves better hospitality than being left to linger on our doorstep.”

Both Commanders looked cautious but not hostile as Cloud was herded inside and Sephiroth shut the door behind them. Angeal was the first to step forward, after laying his broadsword on the coffee table. “Cloud?” he asked hesitantly, reaching a hand out toward his face but pausing half way.

“It’s fine,” Cloud told him. It was hardly the first time the grieving and the lonely had seen echoes of their lost lover, parent, or child in him. It seemed a theme, to be given what belonged to others���—both gentle touches and hateful wounds. “But you should know I never had a romantic relationship with any of your counterparts in my home world.”

“No?” Angeal asked, daring to close the distance and lay his palm along Cloud’s jaw. Like Zack, his thumb swept across the delicate, bruise-dark skin beneath his eye. “Why not?”

“Never met you. Never knew any of you, really, though Zack got the closest.”

The corner of Angeal’s lip twitched upward, just a little. “All things considered, I don’t know if I should be sad or happy for you.”

“Funny. I was thinking the same thing about you.”

Angeal stepped back, drawing his hand away. Everyone looked to Genesis, but the redhead just stood and watched with an unreadable expression. “You’re not our Cloud.”

Cloud couldn’t help but grin tiredly at that. “No, I’m not. I have to admit, it’s very refreshing to hear someone else say that for once”

Genesis looked away, closing his eyes, then huffed. A weary smirk crossed his face. “Infinite in mystery is the gift of the goddess. You could have fooled me. You talk like he used to. Act like it too.” Only then did he step forward, putting his hands on Cloud’s shoulders. “It’s the eyes that give you away. He never looked quite so…”

“Tired?” Cloud suggested archly.

“Worn. Zack mentioned you borrowing the couch?”

“That was part of the deal, yeah. I’ll be gone in about three and a half hours and I intend to sleep while I can.”

Genesis’s expression softened fully at that. “Of course.” He used the hands on Cloud’s shoulders to steer him over to a chair. Cloud sat willingly enough, after taking Tsurugi off and leaning it against the chair’s arm. “Just wait a moment and you can sleep.”

Like a well-oiled machine, the four men broke off to gather pillows and blankets, dim the lights, and generally make their living room habitable for sleeping. They worked fast. Before Cloud quite knew what was happening, he was laying down⁠—Tsurugi pressed against his side and boots on, as he insisted⁠—swathed in warm blankets and resting on a veritable mountain of pillows. He threw an arm over his eyes, mumbling something that might have been thanks, and dropped right off.

Of course, Cloud had long since developed the habit of sleeping without truly losing touch with his surroundings. How it worked, he didn’t know, but if he hadn’t he would have died quite a bit more often than he already did. So he heard, and retained the gist of, the conversation that the four men had around him.

“He looks half dead.”

“I know. Why do you think I insisted he come back here to sleep? He never said anything outright but I swear he was going to bunk down in a tree as soon as we left.”

“What happened to him?”

“I don’t know. He only said that he’d come from another dimension and that he was going to vanish.”

“He also said that he was not the one who Zack “usually” greeted with hostility. I believe he has been traversing dimensions involuntarily for some time.”

“He certainly looks it, poor boy.”

A hand brushed tentatively through his hair. He murmured nonsensically, shifting for a moment before settling back down. The hand resumed its motions as soon as he’d stilled.

“Is this what he could have been, do you think? Strong and selfless? Patient with us?”

A different hand traced the edge of his jaw. His mind whispered not a threat, and so he stayed asleep.

“He would have been a good man. The best, really. If only we could have…”

“Hush. We made mistakes, but our Cloud made his own decisions. And at the end...he was already dead and gone. We put a shell to rest, nothing more.”

“I know. I know that. But it still⁠—”

“—hurts?”

“Yeah.”

“I know, love.”

“...I wonder if he would have been better off like this. If he’d never met us.”

The conversation died after that. Cloud drifted along in silence until the burning sensation that warned of an impending jump became too intense to ignore. He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, then stood and slung Tsurugi across his back.

“What is it?” Zack asked from where he was sitting in an armchair. All four of them were in the living room, pretending they hadn’t just been watching him while he slept. Watching over him, if he was feeling generous, though he understood the impulse either way.

“Two minutes,” he murmured, rubbing at the old scar on his hip. It always burned a little more intensely than the surrounding unscarred flesh. “This is goodbye.”

Zack, of course, got up and hugged him so tight his ribs creaked. “Go get ‘em, tiger,” he joked, but there were tears in his eyes. Angeal’s parting embrace was wordless, as was Genesis’s, though the latter also pressed a chaste kiss against his temple. Sephiroth was the last, as the burning licked up into Cloud’s neck.

“Be safe,” the silver-haired man whispered, releasing him.

Cloud huffed a laugh, though it lacked all but the faintest trace of humor. “Yessir, General,” he drawled, snapping off a perfect salute.

The very last thing he saw was Sephiroth’s small, amused smile, eyes glistening wetly, before the world turned to white static and he vanished.

#ff7 #ASGZC #cloud strife #zack fair #angeal hewley #genesis rhapsodos #Sephiroth #my fics #Cursed to Strife #aimeelouwrites

[bellatrixobsessed1]

From Chin To Yon Rah (Part 20)

She has left Chin. That was her only intent. But she knows that, that isn’t good enough. Not when her WuJing is within walking distance.

It’s desecrated, skeletal shadow haunts her. She knows that she needs to get out from under its shade. There is nothing in the Earth Kingdom for her anymore anyhow and somehow it has managed to instill more hurt and trauma than the Fire Nation had. It is time to go home.

She isn’t sure what she will do when she gets there, she is certain that they won’t even take her back. Or that they will but they will transfer her right back into an institution where she belongs. But she is going to do it. She is going home.

.oOo.

The grasslands are so empty and so vast. And this time she only has her own mind for company. She hasn’t even a mongoose-lizard nor an ostrich horse. And by Agni, her mind isn’t good company.

It yells at her. Chastises her. Mocks her for being too weak to protect herself and her family. Mocks her doubly for letting herself sink so far under. She thinks that she has managed to put herself in a worse state than the one she had been in on the day of Sozin’s Comet. At least she’d had some fight in her then. Some scrap of dignity to be retained. This Azula is simply pathetic. Pathetic and lonely and directionless. More so than before.

At one point, somewhere around a week and a half into the grassland she stops walking. Her feet are sore and her shoes are becoming worn. Her back aches and her belly pangs more often than not, she has nothing to fill it with. Having exhausted all other options, she resorts to eating grass. She finds out the hard way that this is a mistake.

That night was spent without any progress at all. That night was spent doubled over and queasy and heaving. By the end of it her sides ache and her stomach is somehow emptier and achier than before. She thinks that she may be seeing her loved ones sooner than she had imagined.

She is in a much worse state than before she’d consumed the grass. Her throat is dry and her body shakes. She quite literally drags herself for several excruciating miles. Only when she hears the sound of a stream does she will herself to her feet.

And only when she actually sees the stream does she hasten her pace. She is desperate with thirst and near ferally ravenous. She cups her hands and takes mouthfuls of water, lapping at it as though it will disappear if she doesn’t consume it fast enough.

She has the sense to stop for a moment and refill her waterskins.  She is thankful that she had found the courage and willpower to enter Wujing one last time to gather some supplies for her journey.

Hunger makes fishing difficult, but desperation makes it doable. She cooks her first fish while she catches her next few. Her next dozen. She isn’t sure when she will come by her next meal so she eats until she is nearly sick.  

Until she feels sluggish as she forces herself onwards. She thinks that she is only delaying the inevitable. The grasslands had been nearly uncrossable with a mount, to take them on foot, she realizes, had been an extended invitation to death.

Occasionally her mind wanders to a more pleasant place. Occasionally the field resembles a hill on the southern outskirts of Wujing.

This hill had been the perfect place for a picnic. The day before, they had made kites. She had made herself a blue dragon, Hajime had made himself a plain diamond with bright and intricate drawings, and Atsu tried his very hardest to make a badgermole.

Food was anything but scarce on this grassy hill. Ojihara’s family had come to join them and with baskets of fresh fruits and vegetables. And by late afternoon, it was a town event.

But to Azula it will always be a family memory. She was only two or three months pregnant then, but Hajime still pampered her as though she were at least six months along. She held her kite out and watched Atsu and Caihong race with theirs down the hillside. She wasn’t sure who the third child was but she tripped and Atsu helped her up. She remembers the feeling of Hajime’s arms wrapping around her middle. The feeling of his lips against the nape of her neck. She remembers the gentle caress of his hand over her bump and the breeze that tugged at her hair. She remembers having cupped her hand over his.

She remembers the moment being ruined by the breeze picking up their picnic blanket and slamming into the both of them. Their kites had knotted around one another. She remembers that she wasn’t angry or vexed. In fact she vividly recalls Hajime practically falling over with laughter as she tried to untangle the both of them from the blanket. If only the kites hadn’t tangled them up as well. Ultimately Seukhyun was the one to free them.

She remembers declaring that she was going to go back to eating strawberries and letting the children play with kites. She remembers Hajime laying down next to her and feeding her the strawberries.

She misses being spoiled like that. She misses hearing his laugh. Hearing Atsu’s laugh. Misses laughter in general.

That day she learns not to take things for granted.

.oOo.

She draws back and Sokka says nothing for a very long time. Agonizingly long. She should have just stumbled her way through an awkward declaration of love.  That probably would have been far less awkward. Perhaps she had gauged their interactions the wrong way. Her face is flushed quite vividly.

Sokka still doesn’t say a thing. He isn’t Hajime and she shouldn’t have made a move so abruptly. She would rise up and make a hasty retreat for her room, but they are still sitting upon her bed. Of course she could retreat to any of the guest rooms or the training room or perhaps  to take another bath just to have a bath…

She hasn’t quite stood fully when she feels a hand come around her wrist. Sokka gently pulls her back to the mattress, still silent. She thinks that he might be looking for something to say. And she supposes that it would have been rude to have kissed and fled.

“Sorry.” She grumbles at last.

“For what?” He asks.

She touches her fingers to his lips. “I thought that you…” he gives her fingers a small kiss before taking her hand and giving the back of it another small kiss.

“I don’t want you to apologize.” He rubs the back of his head. “I was actually kind of waiting for you to do that.”

“You were?”

“Sure.” He replies. “Though I kind of thought that you were going to kiss me while we were gardening.”

Apparently, even when she has the right emotion, she still has the wrong timing. It had been Hajime who had done much of the work. Hajime who had guided her in the right direction. There had been so many little signs and hints along the way. And then he’d ultimately given her their first real kiss. It had felt right. Natural.

This feels different. It feels jarring and frightening somehow. And maybe it is because she is still apprehensive about finding love at all. With anyone who isn’t Hajime. She isn’t sure that it would be fair to begin a relationship when her last one is still so heavily there. She knows what she will do if she should choose to pursue. She knows that she will compare every little aspect of Sokka--every little thing that he does--to Hajime. And how can she do that to him? How can she put him in a position where he’d be second choice to a dead man.  

She doesn’t think that she can do this. It had been an impulse decision. A spur of the moment action. She doesn’t even know if she loves him; isn’t love supposed to take time? It had taken her a year to decide to marry Hajime, and months before she even kissed him. It had taken time and she has only been around Sokka for a short while. And yet it feels the same as it felt with Hajime. Sokka is fun. He is patient. He is easy to be around.

She is hard to be around. Hard and awkward and confused.

She stiffly apologizes again, gets to her feet, and in one fluid motion, pulls herself from his grasp and out into the hallway.

Somehow this feels just as wrong as kissing him. She doesn’t want to make a rebound of him, neither does she want to write him off.

Azula steals away into the palace hot springs. She casts her robes aside and submerges herself as though her conflict and distress can roll off of her body with the steam. As though she can scrub her troubles away with a bar of soap and a handful of shampoo. She stays in the water until her skin goes wrinkly. And then a little longer after that.

She hadn’t the foresight to grab her pajamas so she changes back into her day clothes.

Somewhere deep within, she hopes that Sokka will be sitting on her bed when she gets back.

He isn’t.

She thinks that she must love him if it hurts this bad to see that he wouldn’t be waiting on her to get it together. She is a fool and she doesn’t know what she is doing. He doesn’t have time to wait for her to figure it out. Likely, he thinks that she has been playing some cruel game with him, just for the sake of making him upset. It is what she would have done some years earlier.

At least she won’t have to worry about tragically losing another lover. She had a second chance and she has already let it go. And for what?

Yes, she definitely loves him. She would be able to sleep if she didn’t.

#Avatar The Last Airbender #Azula #Sokka #Sokkla #Fanfiction

[louiserandom]

Of Stolen Innocence and Ruined Dates

Pairing: Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Madara | Rating: E 

Summary: Madara wants a date.

Tobirama also wants a date, and normally he’d have to ask his ridiculously overprotective brother’s permission first, but he’s feeling rebellious today.

Hashirama just wants to protect his darling Otouto’s innocence—and what the fuck is Tobirama doing naked in Madara’s bed?!

Read on AO3 or continue under the cut :3 Ko-fi info is in the header!

Madara takes a moment to breathe and silently reassure himself that he is, indeed, an exceptionally courageous man.

He was always able to face his fears and unafraid to check under his bed for terrifying giant spiders when he was a child (even though he would have to scramble to one of his brothers’ room more often than not for additional comfort). The latter is a redundant detail, however, since he’s grown into quite the dangerous, deadly, brilliant war strategist and army leader who sent his enemies fleeing in terror from his gunbai. Madara is, in fact, the only one strong enough to fight the fabled God of Shinobi to a standstill... well, was. As he’d learned soon after Konoha’s formation, Tobirama manages the feat just fine as well.

And therein lies the problem, of course. In Senju Tobirama, who seems perfectly content to keep at his paperwork, ever productive and efficient, completely oblivious to Madara’s struggle.

Madara grinds his teeth, groaning inwardly.

What a dick.

A shameless one at that, always flitting about with that overly lose kimono shirt and tight-fitting breeches, sitting with his legs spread out on his chair, lounging on the small couch in the corner or downright sprawled over his desk like some indecent... something.

Even more annoying is Madara’s inability to keep his eyes off him.

It was so godsdamn easy to deal with him before, going from hate to dismissal as they built the foundations of their village and Tobirama stopped being the chief threat to Madara’s only remaining brother. But things took a drastic turn for the worse (or better, as his mind insisted) that fateful day when Madara did learn that he’s not the only one able to match Hashirama in combat. There was something positively tantalizing and admittedly riveting about Tobirama’s genius, how he pushed his already exceptional water style far enough to be able to manipulate not only blood, but the water contained in Hashirama’s Mokuton, which often enough rendered it powerless. Even more surprising was his insistence on only doing the latter in the privacy of highly secluded sparring matches, lest any enemies of the village discover his Anija’s weak spot and take advantage of it.

That was the first time, really, that Madara ever saw something in the Senju that left him hopelessly intrigued. Intrigued enough toーnot stalk him, obviously, of course not, but to watch Tobirama more closely, to notice what made him tick, pick up on the little details Madara had never had an interest in before. He should have known it was a dangerous path, with every time he noticed Tobirama absolutely melt in the presence of children, every time he found Tobirama playing with cats, dogs, birds, even the wild and freakish animals populating the Forest of Death and cooing over them not unlike Hashirama would. Then there were the glimpses Madara got into Tobirama’s personal life, getting more acquainted with his mind-boggling experiments and audacious research that never left Madara bored. Neither did Tobirama’s impeccable training routine which Madara has grown used to running through together in the mornings, and his eager willingness to dance with Madara during their increasingly frequent spars is an added bonus.

Then there’s his efficiently in all matters ranging from politics to economics and infrastructure, which Madara gets to appreciate more now that he’s fled from Hashirama’s clusterfuck of an office to Tobirama’s working space. But that also led to the inconvenience of seeing those loose kimonos and flattering breeches (which Tobirama only tends to wear around Madara, incidentally, behaving more or less proper when Madara masks his chakra and... observes him). And those striking red eyes and messy locks of hair Madara wants to just grab andー

Well, Madara decides, I'm fucked.

Because even he had to admit, despite his best efforts to strangle his stupid fucking impulses before they manifested into fucking feelings, that somewhere along the line, he developed a dangerously persistent crush on his once enemy.

And the fourth night in a row dreaming about Tobirama writhing under him as he kisses him senseless was Madara last godsdamned straw.

He wants a fucking date.

One fucking godsdamned date. Maybe a good, hard fuck on top of that, and that will be the end of it.

(The end of it, he reiterates in his mind just in case.)

So, Madara reminds himself for the umpteenth time in a row that he is exceptionally brave, and he is not afraid to tell the Senju out, godsdammit. Ask him out, he mentally corrects himself, remembering Izuna’s advice on being civil and subtle and whatnot.

Madara can do that. There’s little in this world he can’t do. And Izuna’s assured him that Madara isn’t imagining things, that Tobirama’s gaze does linger a little too long whenever Madara strips in the summer heat. That Tobirama has made far too many an excuse to align his meetings and breaks with Madara’s schedule, rather than Hashirama’s, Izuna’s or Tōka’s.

This speaks to at least a little interest from his side, right?

Madara's sigh rings loudly in his miserable silence. Because of course there's only one fucking way to find out for sure—and the workday drawing to a close as they finish up their remaining concerns for the day seems like the perfect opportunity to embark on his romantic pursuit.

“Oi, Senju,” he starts, wincing at himself because how could he fuck up right from the beginning? “I meanーTobirama?”

The man in question gives him a questioning look from where he’s loungingーagainーon his desk. “Yes, Madara?”

Oh, gods that voice. Deep, and smooth, laced with the delicious inflections that make Madara's insides tingle... what he wouldn’t give to hear it tremble upon a moan.

“Uh.” Madara blinks, yanking himself back to reality. Tobirama is still staring at him with a raised eyebrow and what looks to be an inkling of amusement in his eyes. “I was going to say.” He clears his throat as his voice cracks a little. Fuck. Fuck, fuck. “You look exceptionally hot today,” he blurts out, giving himself another extra strong mental kick for such a foolish slip of the tongue.

Handsome. All he had to say, per Izuna’s careful, repeated instructions, was fucking handsome. Before he can correct himself, though, Tobirama says,

“Hot? Madara, you remember that my body temperature is much lower than is normal and I’m really sensitive to cold, right? It may seem hot to you outside but I’m freezing.”

Ah. He didn’t even get it. Madara sighs with an exasperated roll of his eyes. Calmly continue, he decides, no need to worry in the face of such inexperience.

“I meant,” Madara goes on, punctuating his works with a blatant leer and a smirk, “appealing. Easy on the eye. Handsome, one might say.”

He stops himself before he can overdo it, relishing the sharp intake of breath, the shock flashing briefly in Tobirama’s eyes.

“You mean,” Tobirama says, schooling his expression into casual curiosity, “you might say?”

Madara chuckles. “Why, yes. I’ve been thinking it for quite a while now, in fact, and thought it unproductive to keep this from you any longer.”

“Unproductive to what?” Tobirama asks, and even sans the Sharingan, Madara sees a hint of blush blooming on his pale, sculpted cheeks.

Beautiful.

“Unproductive to beautiful?”

Madara’s hands jerk of their own accord, knocking down half of the stacks of paper already placed dangerously on the edge of his desk. And Izuna warned him, too, to keep control of his limbs, but how is Madara supposed to do that with Tobirama smiling at him like that?!

“I-I didn’t mean to say that,” Madara rushes through his words, “I mean, out loud, I did meanーyou areーbut...” Overdoing it, alarm bells ring in his head. Giving up, he slams his hands on his desk as he stands up and glares at the grinning fool. “Fuck you, Senju! We’re going on a date! Tonight. Any place of your choice. With me,” he clarifies just to be safe, “andーif you want, that is! Yes.” In a desperate bid to fix the disastrous tirade at least a little bit, he says, more of a whisper this time, “I mean. Yes? Or...”

Tobirama laughs.

The utter bastard.

It’s a wonderful melodic sound Madara so rarely hears from him, cherishes each and every time his jokes land just right to gauge at least a chuckle from the man, but the fact that Tobirama is now laughing at him only makes anger boil at the pit of his stomach.

“What the fuck, Senju,” he growls.

“What you’re asking,” Tobirama drawls in a maddeningly playful manner, “is whether I'll consider accompanying you for a pleasant dinner tonight, just the two of us?”

That godsdamned look. Eyes narrowed suggestively as they glide over Madara’s body before locking with his eyes. The grin Madara now realizes is far from just that, watching, mesmerized, as Tobirama’s tongue slips out to wet his lips in a downright debauched manner.

Oh, gods. This man is going to be the death of him. And thinking back now to the time he distinctly remembers both Tobirama and Izuna supervising Hashirama’s questionable attempts to woo the Princess of Uzushio, Tobirama had to have gotten the meaning of Madara’s first flirting attempt.

Madara has just been played. And he’s enjoying it, too, the masochist he apparently is.

“Yes,” he grinds through his teeth, hoping the gravity of his glare impresses upon Tobirama just how pissed he is and pleading Amaterasu that it’s not a blush warming his cheeks as he seethes. “So, Senju? Don’t try my patience.”

Another chuckle escapes that infuriating, kissable mouth.

“You are ridiculous,” Tobirama says, the absolute bastard, “and nowhere near eloquent. But I must say I’m intrigued. If only because you’re...” He gives Madara another once-over, seemingly searching for the right term. “Cute.”

“W-whaーwho are you calling cute!” Madara shrieks despite himself, springing over his desk and stalking up to Tobirama to jam a finger into his chestーdistractingly prominent underneath the tight shirt he’s wearing. “Don’t you dare call me that to my face if you don’t wish to die.”

“Why, I was hoping you’d give me at least one little death today,” Tobirama purrs.

Andーwell. Whatever Madara was planning to yell next flies completely over his head, and damn his brain for shutting off completely in favor of imagining those lips stretched not in a grin but around Madara’sー

“But I suppose we really shouldn’t get ahead of ourselves,” Tobirama says, covering Madara’s hand with his and lowering it gently. “I’m intrigued but...” He scowls. “I really should be asking Anija’s permission first.”

That brings Madara back to reality. “Permission? From Hashirama?” Madara frowns. “What are you, twelve? Why do you need the loghead’s permission for things concerning your personal life?”

Tobirama rolls his eyes. “Anija is... protective. Overprotective,” he corrects himself, before sighing heavily. A crazy urge compels Madara to squeeze his hand in reassurance before Tobirama can let him go. “Really fucking overbearing. I hate it. But we’ll all be better off if we get his consent first. He might ground me.”

“Ground you?” It doesn’t make any sense. The most efficient warrior Madara knows, seen as the White Demon by clueless fools and as the incredible genius he is by those who know him, a shinobi capable of standing up to the idiot their kind considers God being grounded by said decidedly ungodlike idiot is... mind-boggling, to say the least.

“He’s my Anija,” Tobirama says, long-suffering, as if that explains everything. Madara keeps staring. Tobirama sighs again, his thumb rubbing circles onto Madara’s wrist as he collects his thoughts before speaking again. “I allow it, really. He hasn’t been the same since Kawarama and Itama died, and there’s this anxiety and fear he has of me being in danger or taken advantage of by others. He’s never unreasonable, though, and you’re his best friend. I’m sure he’ll be lenient.”

Madara makes a face. “Perhaps.” The important thing, he thinks, is to avoid letting on exactly what he’d like to do to Hashirama’s younger brother. Madara is sure he wouldn’t be so ‘lenient’ if he knew. “It’s still strange.”

“Tell me about,” Tobirama groans, a helpless look in his eyes, “I even have a curfew.”

“What if,” Madara asks, “we’re back before the curfew?”

Tobirama glances at the watch. “We have three hours,” he says, tentative, “and we have to be impeccably cautious unless you want the Mokuton up your ass.”

“Literally?”

“Literally.”

“We are great shinobi precisely because we can be careful, Tobirama,” Madara says, lifting their still interlocked hands to give Tobirama’s a gentle kiss. “So I say let’s give it a try.”

Tobirama fixes him with a thoughtful, conflicted gaze for but a moment, yet even that seems too long, with Madara’s heart still racing from the brief conversation they’ve had, anticipating an actual fucking date with the manーthe geniusーhe couldn’t help but fall for, if only Tobirama saysー

“Yes.” Tobirama’s smile is a dazzling thing. “Let’s.”

One minute stretches past Tobirama’s curfew, and Hashirama is ready to crawl out of his skin. Not having his brother near him for their evening tea and easy conversation before bed is... a struggle. It's been a tradition of theirs for as long as he could remember, save for the evenings of battle, and Hashirama cherished each moment he spent with his little brother, the unambiguous reminder that he was alive, safe, and right there.

(Not like the two bodies, bloodied and broken and far too little, resting too small graves in a forgotten compound littered with the countless sacrifices of a meaningless war.)

Of course, he realizes that will soon be spending most of his evenings with Mito instead, that Tobirama had long been planning his move out of their shared home to give them privacy. And however much he’s enamored with his future wife, Hashirama can scarcely imagine not being near his brother at least half of any given day, the insidious fear of peacetime shattering and devolving into another bout of bloodshed ceaselessly clawing at his mind. 

It's fine, Anija, Tobirama would placate him were he here, as he always is, to listen to Hashirama's worries. I can take care of myself. You know this.

The clock ticks on, merciless, and soon enough it’s two minutes of Tobirama being lateーwhich he never is unless he’s in serious troubleーso, without further ado, Hashirama springs to his feet and runs out of the house. Channeling his chakra into the wood and plants around him is second nature by now, and he commands them to search the village and beyond for his Otouto, to immediately incapacitate any threat that might be endangering him. He follows their lead, little by little deciphering their vague, pulse-like 'speech’ which is more visual than resembling an audial message. Only the oldest trees, which have had time and put effort into studying humans around them, are able to communicate in the more normal sense of the term.

Luckily, Hashirama stumbles upon one of those soon enough.

Hello there, Kotomi, he greets the ancient willow tree stationed by the Administration Tower like the guard it is, unbeknownst to most people.

Looking for your Otouto? Kotomi asks, an inexplicable hint of derision in their tone.

Yes! Hashirama says, frantic. I think he’s in trouble. Do you know where he’s gone? He should have been back by now.

Don’t worry so much. He’s with the flailing firestarter. Having fun.

Madara? Hashirama frowns. The trees have taken to calling all the Uchiha firestarters and only ever use the word flailing to describe Madara, whose agitation and screaming seems to annoy them more often than not. Why would Tobirama break curfew for Madara? And are you sure it’s fun they’re having and not a fight?

Oh, they’re fighting all right, Kotomi actually tries imitating a giggle, which confuses Hashirama further, about who’s going to end up on top, apparently.

As the reality of the situation dawns on Hashirama, he can feel a different type of devastating horror overtaking him, as he realizes it’s not exactly Tobirama’s life he must fear for, but his innocence.

And to think his best friend would betray him this way. Hashirama clenches his fists, letting unbridled wrath wash over him in waves as he follows Kotomi’s direction towards Madara’s house.

Best friend or no, he will have to answer for his crimes.

Tobirama should have known they wouldn’t be able to make it in time for curfew. But, trapped now against the wall with his legs wrapped around Madara’s waist as he’s being kissed senseless, Tobirama finds he’s long since stopped caring.

Because they’ve been at this for an hour. A long, agonizing hour they intended, in all seriousness, to spend over tea at Madara’s place before Tobirama went back home but spectacularly failed to keep their hands to themselves. It should have been obvious, really; the closeness, their spirits high from a dinner date that went perfectly, the palpable desire in their chakra they could both sense and relished in how their signatures resonated. Fueled by just a touch of alcohol in place of the tea, then by a far-too-passionate kiss goodbye and just enough groping to warrant a continuation in the bedroom.

Madara’s bedroom. Which feels unreal, and even more so when Madara didn’t even manage to carry Tobirama all the way over to the bed, instead pinning him against the wall and trading shallow, intermittent kisses for a much more thorough exploration of Tobirama’s mouth, tongue hot, and demanding, and steadily driving Tobirama insane with want.

Tobirama moans, despite his efforts to keep quiet, too overwhelmed and craving to get Madara’s hands on him. Not like they are now, feeling him up through his clothes, but flush against his skin, sliding over his cock, moving inside him like he’s fantasized about far too oftenー

“Fuck,” Madara groans against his lips as they part for breath, just for a moment before leaning in for another messy, bruising kiss.

“Me, please,” Tobirama pants, pulling away this time to urge Madara towards their destination. “Bed.”

The ease with which Madara hauls him towards the futon only turns Tobirama on further, and he can’t help the keens and whimpers that escape as Madara claws his shirt off. His hands are finally on Tobirama’s chest, grazing his nipples, fingers digging into his sides as his chakra flares, hot and crackling, surging with lust and melding with Tobirama’s own as their cocks press together through too thick clothing.

“You haven’t actually done this before, have you?” Madara asks, voice lower than usual and strained as he speaks, pinning Tobirama with a gaze dark with unbridled desire.

Tobirama groans. “Was it that obvious?”

“You kiss well for a first time,” Madara says, grinning as he leans down to press his lips to Tobirama’s neck, “but I’m a sensor too, you know. You’d do well to calm down a bit.”

“I’m notーno, that’s not it,” Tobirama says, averting his eyes. As if he hasn’t lost count of how many times he’s touched, fingered himself, fucked himself with painfully insufficient toys with Madara’s name on his lips. And yet there’s treacherous embarrassment spiking up, fear creeping in that he’ll simply disappoint. “I am worried I’ll do something wrong.”

“Don’t be,” Madara whispers against his ear, kisses traveling down to his jaw and to his lips. “The only thing that can upset me is you not enjoying this.”

“I am,” Tobirama breathes, a shudder running through his body as Madara moves back to his neck, sucking bruises onto sensitive skin, making the pleasure all the more overwhelming.

“Good. But I’d like to do this right,” Madara says firmly, so unlike his usual blustering self, “and take things slow if you want. How about we keep things here for now?”

Tobirama amplifies the spike of annoyance in his chakra, lashing out with it enough to catch Madara off guard and flip them around.

“How about no?” he says, tugging Madara’s own overshirt off, relishing the thick, rippling muscles revealed for him to explore. “At least teach me how to suck you off. I’m a fast learner.”

“Fuck.” Madara squeezes his eyes shut, and Tobirama could swear he feels his cock twitch against his, though that may have just been his imagination. “You can’t just say things like that, Tobirama!”

“I can and I will.” Tobirama smirks, content to know he’s snared his target as Madara lets out a strangled moan when Tobirama palms him through his pants. “And do them, too, if you’ll let me.”

So contrary to his usual explosive nature, Madara seems conflicted, hesitant, even as Tobirama definitely feels his cock twitch this time.

This won’t do.

His own heart racing, throat dry and blood running hot, Tobirama leans in to mouth at his neck in an imitation of what Madara did to him before, just to test how sensitive he is.

The sound it earns him is divine. As is the way Madara’s grips his waist, pulling him closer, tangling a hand in Tobirama’s hair, tugging slightly as he trails a path of open-mouthed kisses to Madara’s chest.

“Tobirama...”

He keeps eye contact all the while, watching Madara bite his lip, trying and failing to hold in another groan, struggle to keep his eyes open, flickering between dark and red as his chakra flares hot like the fires of his jutsu. Beautiful, Tobirama thinks. So hot, panting and shivering under him, when all Tobirama is doing is lapping at his nipple, sucking it into his mouth, teeth just shy of grazing it. Then again, the taste of Madara’s skin, the closeness, the delicious feel of his chakra and the sounds he coaxes from the man are intoxicating, and Tobirama soon finds himself thrusting lightly against Madara’s thigh, hands wandering lower to touch him through his pants, finding him hard and already leaking through the fabric, andー

Another flare of pleasure, echoed by Tobirama’s own signature. He squeezes his eyes shut, overwhelmed, heat pooling in the base of his stomach as his cock aches for someーanyーkind of stimulation.

All right, maybe he’s a little overenthusiastic.

That isn’t any reason to stop, obviously.

Yet Madara’s sudden laugh, dark and low and feral for lack of any better word to describe it, gives Tobirama pause.

He moans, despite himself, as Madara’s grip on his hair tightens and he draws him up and away from his treat, and opens his eyes to the sight of a purely animalistic look on Madara’s face. Flushed, and panting, and still squirming under Tobirama’s hands, there’s no prior hesitation in his gaze, only pure, unbridled need.

Tobirama swallows heavily.

(Gods forbid Madara catches Tobirama actually drooling over him. What he does and doesn’t do behind closed doors is irrelevant; what Madara sees shouldn’t be as humiliating.)

"Teach you to suck me off, huh,” Madara says, voice closer to a growl as he cards his fingers through Tobirama’s hair, his other hand reaching down to still Tobirama’s that’s still palming his cock and guide him to a more languid rhythm. “You are infuriatingly eager.”

“And you,” Tobirama pants, “are infuriatingly slow. Honestly, I thought you’d be more efficient.”

It probably isn’t that convincing, what with Tobirama breaking into a gasp as Madara flares his chakra far, far stronger than he has up to this point, firewantlustsearing sensations prickling through Tobirama’s whole body, eliciting a whimper he’d be ashamed of if he had the capacity to be so, as his mind seems to self-destruct for a blinding flash of a moment.

Tobirama comes to slowly, thoughts still foggy, to the feel of Madara dragging his head towardsーoh. His cock, hard and slick with precome, bigger than Tobirama had expected even as he’d felt the girth through the fabric before.

“Whaー” Tobirama asks, because he’s certain Madara is saying something, if only the ringing in his ears would let him process it.

“I said get to work if you want it so much,” Madara command, the gaze blazing red now, tomoe spinning, recording this into memory which makes Tobirama all but preen under the scrutinyーand in the face of Madara’s devastating grin. “Go on. I’ll guide you through it.”

Tobirama lets out a shaky breath, ignoring his own cock pulsing, trapped painfully by the far-too-tight pants he’s taken to wearing to provoke more of Madara’s unsubtle ogling. Leaning down, he has time enough only to wrap his lips around the head of Madara’s cock, mouth stretching around hot, slick skin, the heady taste of precome on his tongueー

ーbefore the window crashes open and Tobirama’s mind flashes back to all the times he’d had to witness his Anija and Madara shout each other’s names stupidly across the battlefield.

“MADARA!”

Tobirama releases Madara with a not-quite decent pop which prompts Hashirama’s dramatic gasp.

“WH-WHY-HOーWOULD YOU FUCKING EXPLAIN WHAT THE FUCK YOU ARE DOING WITH MY LITTLE BROTHER?!”

“What the fuck am Iーit’s none of your godsdamned business!” Madara scrambles to shove himself back in his pants. Tobirama almost wishes he wouldn’t; maybe continuing with the blowjob out of spite would have scandalized Anija enough for him to run off. “Get the fuck out of my house!”

“Will not! Why are you keeping Tobirama past his curfew?”

“Why does a full-fledged adult need a curfew, you worthless fucking tree stump?”

“So he’s not exposed to people who are intent on defiling him,” Hashirama says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “like you, apparently! Madara, I expected better from my best friend.”

“And I didn’t expect you to be a fucking control freak,” Madara shouts. “You don’t see me stalking and cockblocking Izuna, do you?”

“Well, no, but that only means I’m more diligent in looking out for my Otouto,” Hashirama huffs.

“What the hell are you implying?” Madara growls, chakra crackling like it does every time before he throws a punch or sets a fire.

Tobirama sighs, giving up his attempt at meditation from where he’s settled cross-legged next to Madara’s flailing form.

“Anija,” he intervenes, “may I remind you...”

“Tobi.” Hashirama turns towards him, an almost pitying look in his eyes. “Please don’t believe whatever lies Madara spouted at youーejaculate is not a healthy bedtime snack!”

Oh, gods. Not the healthy bedtime snacks again.

“What the fuckー” Madara looks about ready to implode now, and Tobirama places a hopefully comforting hand on his shoulder.

“To be fair, he is right,” Tobirama concedes, resisting the urge to simply Hiraishin out of the situation and leave the two idiots to deal with it themselves. But that would disprove his following point. “But I must once again remind you, Anija, that I am a grown-up. I have been killing people since I was four, and I improved the efficiency of our clan’s entire taxing policy when I was twelve. A possibleー” one-night stand, dalliance, arrangement, “ーrelationship is nothing I can’t handle.”

Tobirama hates how his heart skips a beat as he glances to see Madara’s reaction, only to find him still staring at Hashirama, a mesh of confusion and anger battling in his chakra as he alternates between confused whispers of “what the fuck” and “bedtime snacks.”

“Butーbut I had a glass of milk and your favorite cookies ready and you weren’t there,” Hashirama whines, lip quivering as his face crumpling in a way that only ever leads to tears.

“Anija, I will be there next time,” Tobirama says firmly, “I promise. But tonight, I’d like to spend with Madara.” He gives his brother a look that hopefully conveys get the fuck out of here, Anija enough for Hashirama to understand.

But of course not.

“So, what,” Hashirama says, throwing his hands up, “you’re now going to spend all your time with Madara and completely forget about me?”

Tobirama sighs. “No. All I wanted was a date, Anija.”

“A date which ends with him stealing your innocence?!”

Tobirama closes his eyes and counts to ten as he replies, “If I say no, will you believe me?” He was tempted to say, Yes, and I’ll enjoy every fucking moment of it, but decided against it, if only to keep Madara’s barely coherent stuttering and wheezing from turning into a full-fledged seizure.

“Yes! If you come back home for bedtime snacks after a perfectly serviceable date, I’m sure,” Hashirama says, classic puppy dog eyes in full swing, “because Madara, if you’re courting my brother, you have to take it slow and woo him properly!”

Madara’s reply to that is a low, threatening growl now that he’s shaken himself out of the shock. Just in case, Tobirama tightens the grip on his shoulder. It wouldn’t do for Konoha to be destroyed by these two after the recent anniversary of its founding.

“Anija,” Tobirama says as calmly as he is able (which is, admittedly, bordering on furious), "since I consider it preferable that ‘wooing’ me ‘properly’ includes at least one fucking blowjob this evening, stop spying on me, leave us be and I will talk to you tomorrow.”

“Waitー”

Completely ignoring his Anija’s hysterical flailing, Tobirama tugs on one of the Hiraishin markers in his bedroom, and the next second he and Madara land in a heap of tangled limbs on his futon, well withinー

“...the professional Anija-repellent traps I’ve developed over the years,” Tobirama explains while Madara struggles to get his bearings, “so we shouldn’t be disturbed anymore. IーI’m sorry about that.”

“What the fuck,” Madara seethes, eyes still wide and hair sticking out from his insistent pulling on it during Anija’s tirade, “even was that?”

Tobirama sighs, rolls his eyes, and decides to answer with a kiss, hard, wet and sloppy, hopefully distracting enough to keep Madara’s mind away from pesky cockblocking idiots who will be wise to stay away if they value their wellbeing. And blessedly, Madara kisses him back after but a moment of stillness, the wild mess of confusion and irritation that is his chakra mellowing, gradually, into the familiar simmer of heat, scorching, electrifying, melding with Tobirama’s desire in turn.

“How about,” he suggests amid short-lived open-mouthed kisses, unfastening Madara’s breeches somewhat clumsily in his urgency, “we focus on more... pressing matters, shall we?”

Madara lets out a surprised laugh, gaze never leaving Tobirama as he forges a wet trail with his lips down Madara’s chest. “Still so eager to, uh, part with your innocence, I see,” he tries for a joke which breaks off into a harsh breath as Tobirama sinks down to lick at the head of his half-hard cock, stifling a moan at the feel of it twitching against his lips.

“You have no idea,” he murmurs with a self-satisfied smirk before focusing entirely on the very hard, very mouthwatering task at hand.

#madatobi #tobimada #madara uchiha #tobirama senju #lou writes #fluff #humor #smut #fanfic #naruto

[agentrouka-blog]

Jon and Ygritte - rotten moral code? Nah, just setting up Jonsa.

If there is one thing that had me uncertain if Jon is good enough for my Darling Angel Sansa, it’s this:

He could feel the throb of pain where her arrow had gone through the meat and muscle of his thigh. He remembered the old man's eyes too, and the black blood rushing from his throat as the storm cracked overhead. But he remembered the grotto best of all, the look of her naked in the torchlight, the taste of her mouth when it opened under his. Ygritte, stay away. Go south and raid, go hide in one of those roundtowers you liked so well. You'll find nothing here but death. (ASOS, Jon VII)

Gosh, it was sure bad when she murdered that innocent, unarmed old man. But wow, what a hottie. “Go south and raid”? Raid?? Seriously, you want her to kill even MORE innocent people because it’s such swell fun for her? What the hell is wrong with you??

Ygritte was much in his thoughts as well. He remembered the smell of her hair, the warmth of her body . . . and the look on her face as she slit the old man's throat. You were wrong to love her, a voice whispered. You were wrong to leave her, a different voice insisted. He wondered if his father had been torn the same way, when he'd left Jon's mother to return to Lady Catelyn. He was pledged to Lady Stark, and I am pledged to the Night's Watch. (ASOS, Jon VI)

Wrong to leave her. Hm. Yeah. If that’s your preferred lifestyle, Jon. By all means. 

And, dude, I get that your relationship with Catelyn was very painful and that you never even met your mother, but that comparison is just insulting to BOTH women. And Ned. By all the Seven, get a grip, Jon.

"Who is Ygritte?" Donal Noye asked pointedly.

"A woman of the free folk." How could he explain Ygritte to them? She's warm and smart and funny and she can kiss a man or slit his throat. "She's with Styr, but she's not . . . she's young, only a girl, in truth, wild, but she . . ." She killed an old man for building a fire. His tongue felt thick and clumsy. The milk of the poppy was clouding his wits. "I broke my vows with her. I never meant to, but . . ." It was wrong. Wrong to love her, wrong to leave her . . . "I wasn't strong enough. The Halfhand commanded me, ride with them, watch, I must not balk, I . . ." His head felt as if it were packed with wet wool. (ASOS, Jon VI)

This is one of the few things I find deeply, deeply disconcerting about Jon. This willingness to overlook the murder of an innocent man, to let it be overshadowed by the memory of, essentially, her naked chest. 

Jon Boy, I get that you were a love-starved little bastard weasel and you miss the intimacy of a relationship, but she is literally a cold-blooded killer. And she treated you like a possession. How are you justifying this. 

Seriously, the only saving grace here is that Jon is maybe 15 or 16 and emotionally starved and has zero experience with what a good relationship would be like. Ygritte was neither particularly warm, nor smart (AT ALL!) and I cannot judge the funny. But she most certainly was a violent, murdering invader. And Jon really really really wants to be in denial about that. 

At the worst, this tells us Jon is extremely superficial in his core values. A sham of a character. But that doesn’t gel with what we’ve seen of him elsewhere.

At best, however, this underlines how very very very much Jon longs to be loved, how much it will mean to him when he experiences it. This is the only interpretation that ameliorates his moral failure here just a little bit. This angle also gives us a glimpse into the future.

We already saw Jon mature a lot over the course of AFFC and ADWD. He does still refer to Ygritte in his head as a mentor. But the romantic relationship fades far into the background. He has better priorities, but that longing for love is likely not dead. 

GRRM is obviously setting up something to do with Dany, here. Violent invader open to romance… It’s Dany. GRRM either means to create plausible doubt about Jon’s true feelings if he wants to toy with the reader about political!Jon, OR to set up another bout of actual denial if Jon is bound to Dany on an honest, emotional level.

But. 

The first option will be tricky to pull off, without erasing Jon’s POV for far too long, so why bother for just one short-term surprise? It’d be as bad as the show. GRRM is better than that.

If it was the second option played straight, I would lose all my respect for Jon. And I would find it boring. It would mean that Jon has literally not grown, at all. It would mean that whatever relationship he develops with whatever Stark he encounters before Dany - Sansa, Arya, Bran, Rickon, Benjen, I don’t even care - would not have enough depth to outweigh whatever an emotionally stunted child woman (fascinating character arc, but really, she’s not that interesting on an interpersonal level) can offer him. He would be as ignorant about a proper relationship as he had been with Ygritte. As willing to compromise basic moral standards for emotional comfort and a good time between the sheets.

Or GRRM is simply setting up a contrast.

The fact THAT Jon was having these extremely questionable impulses of bargaining when it comes to Ygritte’s character back when he was a wee little stupid baby, actually makes me fairly confident that he won’t struggle so hard do the same with Dany when he encounters her as a “man grown”. 

Because there would be absolutely nothing interesting about Ygritte 2.0. with dragons. Murdering invader who looks good naked, yay! My family disapproves: what surprising, heart-rending tension. She kills people but she is so pretty: what inner turmoil. She is miraculously pregnant with the fruit of our incest, but I love her, it���s all good. Go south and raid, Dany Darling! I am aghast by your killings but, gosh, so torn because you are so full of.. um.. yeah. No.

But it would be very interesting to see Jon understand the difference between a good and a bad relationship. To track his actual growth by seeing him reevaluate what he thought he knew with what he learns. To see him struggle not with melodramatic denial but with guilt for an emotionally vulnerable monster, and with horror when he discovers she is possibly much cleverer and even more dangerous than he even thought. 

Basically, what would be much more interesting, would be Jon underestimating her, rather than being in denial. Being in denial about Dany’s nature, or bargaining over it, makes Jon a boring, repetitive fool. Underestimating how far she will go, while being fully aware of her nature, that’s the stuff of horrifying surprises.

But in order for Jon to mature emotionally to such a degree, he will first have to experience a relationship that is not abusive but nourishing, and feel loved and accepted. Not even necessarily romantic, but simply close, positive, trusting. And in order to do it in an interesting, non-redundant way that shows us something we have not seen before, it almost HAS to be Sansa. Which brings us back to how very very very much Jon craves just such a thing. So much he was willing to downplay the vile horror that is murdering innocent people because the person who did it had “loved” him and he wasn’t ready to let go of that.

Arya, Bran, Benjen, Rickon, all the Starks already love him. It’s Sansa who’s a mystery box in terms of interaction. Basically, their relationship, in order to set Jon up on a trajectory to stay interesting, has to be a very positive one. It doesn’t have to be perfect, obviously, but overall very positive. Warm, funny, smart. Life-affirming. Embracing.

And unless Jaime-Cersei-Brienne is supposed to be the apex of romantic tension in the books (Love Arianne, but she is not “big” enough to carry the books on her amazing shoulders.) then Jonsa is basically inevitable. 

There is simply not enough emotional tension in a platonic Stark family v. Targ family feud. Certainly not between the Starklings. Why have two Stark sisters unless Jon’s relationship with them is going to be markedly different? Especially with the level of importance weddings and babies have carried up to now. It is literally inevitable that romance will be central. Even if GRRM means to end it tragically, which I don’t think he will, Jonsa will have to be a thing, a BIG THING in order to provide emotional growth for Jon, a contrast to his relationships with Ygritte and Dany, a pay-off for all of Sansa’s romantic disasters and - obviously - for RLJ. Because only Jonsa is unlocked by the reveal of that secret. Because Jon’s main arc is not the road to Targaryen kingship. It’s the road to home and family. There is only one thing in that direction that RLJ makes possible: marry a Stark. And there is nothing to be gained by Jonrya, their love was already perfect. And he probably can’t continue the Stark line by marrying Bran. Just saying. 

In order for Jon’s questionable, immature thoughts about Ygritte’s murdering actions to lead anywhere at all, he will have to overcome them. The most interesting way for him to do that would be by experiencing an actual, positive love story, where he doesn’t have to be in denial about his lover’s vicious nature, and experience actual acceptance and tenderness. You know, that exotic stuff where you’re not threatened with violence, called stupid, angrily yelled at for disagreeing, being shown zero interest in the things you care about… You know, the kind where you don’t have to commit or condone murder in order to be loved. Where someone might actually, I don't know, try and pull you away from the murderous brink. 

So, out of the darkness of those horrifying Jon thoughts about Ygritte, I kind of draw a lot of hope for Jon’s future. 

#asoiaf speculation #asoiaf #jonsa #anti-ygritte #daenerys targaryen #jon snow #sansa stark #ygritte #my posts

[sithsecrets]

A Matter of Expediency - Part XII

After being married off to Kylo Ren in the name of securing an heir to the First Order’s throne, a princess tries to navigate the ins and outs of married life. As she grows closer to her new husband, the princess also carves out a place for herself in the Order, assuming control over her life when she thought she would have none.

---

Part 12

4k words

Mentions: allusions to past/possible abuse, swearing, sad themes about pregnancy

---

Final preparations for your charity gala are done in the snow, puffy white flakes falling from an overcast sky as servants bustle about the Palgoduan castle. You oversee some of the goings-on, a bit tired from your fitful night’s sleep. Kylo is elsewhere, preoccupied with some Order business of a different sort, and you cannot help but feel a bit thankful. Though you’re in better spirits today, sadness lingers at your core, and the last thing you need right now is Kylo asking you if everything’s alright.

Queen Eleanor is by your side for most of the morning, holding her pregnant stomach as the two of you walk about together. She is so sweet, this Queen of Palgodu, but you still feel a pang of jealousy each time you lay eyes on her, on her children and her body. You ty very hard to do as Miriam told you, to not dwell on your empty, fruitless womb, but that’s easier said than done.

At midday, the Queen declares that she is practically starving to death, and she very graciously invites you to take lunch with her and the children. Your first impulse is to decline the invitation, your raw heart wanting nothing more than to avoid sad reminders of all that you do not have, but you force yourself to accept anyway. It wouldn’t do to appear rude, and this childish little self-pity party must come to an end sometime.

You eat in a small, informal dining room in the company of Princess Maudie, baby Eli, and the children’s nurse, Mya. The meal you’re served is rich and heavy, lots of hearty meats, cheeses, and winter vegetables. Queen Eleanor practically inhales a slab of red meat all on her own, eating ravenously in a way that makes you believe that she really was starving.

Princess Maudie takes great interest you as lunch carries on, regarding you curiously as she munches on bits of shredded meat and little slices of fruit.

“Who are you?” the little girl asks after a while, head cocked to one side as she stares you down from across the table.

“Maudie, we talked about this,” her mother chides. “This is the Empress of the galaxy.”

“You met her yesterday, darling,” Mya adds.

Maudie seems perplexed by this revelation, though she moves past it quickly. Her next inquiry centers around why you’re here, asking next where you live after you tell her about your charity work. After serval minutes of intense grilling, Queen Eleanor and Mya tell Maudie that that’s enough.

“Nonsense,” you declare, amused by the little girl’s line of questioning. She’s quite intrigued by the fact that you live on a ship in space all the time, and she wants to meet Kylo again since she, quote, “forgot about him, too.”

You’re in better spirits when you retreat back to your chambers, but rather tired. A nap would do you good before the party, you think, so you draw the curtains and climb into bed. Sleep comes easily, and it’s some time before you wake again.

The room is no different when you open your eyes, sunlight still trying in vain to seep in through the thick curtains you shut tight. Everything is dim and dark, just as it should be, but you’re no longer alone as you were when you lied down.

“Good afternoon,” Kylo murmurs, the pad of his thumb soft and warm on your cheek.

Snuggling against your husband’s touch, you give him a sleepy, loose smile. “It certainly is now.”

---

The merrymaking is well underway by sunset, everyone drinking and dancing and chattering happily as if none of you have a care in the world. Many important officials from around the galaxy are strewn about the room, your cause’s most generous benefactor by far. Others are around as well, of course, lesser nobles from Palgodu, a few choice friends. To your utter joy, Lydia, Helda, and Joon could all make it tonight, and you’re practically vibrating at the thought of seeing them again. Comm correspondence just isn’t the same, and you can’t wait to hear all about what’s been going on in their lives in person.

You and Kylo’s arrival is met with thunderous applause, though you’re thankful that you don’t have to formally receive any guests the way you did at your wedding reception. Nonetheless, you do a fair bit of schmoozing out on the floor, greeting ambassadors and generous benefactors alike as Kylo accompanies you. He’s quiet, letting you do all the talking, but the adoration in his eyes is not lost on you every time you look his way.

Joon finds you first, mercifully saving both you and your husband from a rather droll conversation with a couple of diplomats. Her approach is slow and deliberate, though smile on her face is wide.

“I was going to just run up and hug you,” Joon says, fitting the both of you together in an embrace, “but Nobi said that two Praetorian Reds would probably cave my head in before I could explain myself.”

You can’t help but laugh at that, squeezing your friend soundly. Even Kylo cracks a little smile, though it seems he doesn’t know quite how to act naturally in this situation.

Joon has much to tell you, talking your ear off as she whisks you away from the party’s main staging area. To your utter joy, Helda and Lydia are waiting for you off to the side, nursing drinks and talking idly until they see you approach. Their embraces are painfully and spectacularly familiar, warm in the way that true friendship should make one feel. Stars, you think you might cry as you look upon their faces, upon Lydia’s dark eyes and Helda’s red curls.

Poor Kylo is nothing more than an afterthought for a few minutes as you and Joon and Helda and Lydia all make over one another, chittering like birds and grinning like happy children. Only when he gently grasps your wrist do you remember yourself.

“I’m going to speak with Hux, darling,” Kylo tells you, bending down to press a kiss to your cheek. You feel bad then, expression melting into something apologetic and you twine your fingers together.

“I’m sorry,” you say, “you really don’t have to go.”

Unbothered, Kylo shakes his head. “I want you to speak freely with your friends. Find me in while, please.”

And with one last kiss on your face, your husband turns on his heel to leave, striding off in a dark swirl of cloak. You can feel eyes on your before you so much as turn back to face your friends, all of them no doubt about to tease you mercilessly.

“So that’s the galaxy’s biggest tyrant?” Joon muses, one eyebrow cocked. Helda’s grin is as sly as she can muster, and even Lydia seems pleasantly intrigued for once in her life.

“He’s not so bad,” you murmur, glancing over your shoulder at the back of Kylo’s retreating head.

“We’re glad to see that,” Lydia declares, the look in her eyes uncharacteristically soft.

There’s no more talk of Kylo after that, or of men in general, for the four of go out onto the dancefloor together. It’s just like old times again, you and your friends spinning and jumping and holding hands in time to the music, wisps of hair clinging to your flushed faces. And though it’s all great fun, you tire of the activity after a while, thirsty and a bit too sweaty for your liking under the thick fabric of your gown.

Helda and Joon split off from you and Lydia, both going in separate directions. It’s grown a bit late, Helda’s mother beckoning her away, Joon’s boyfriend missing her by his side. Lydia and yourself grab something refreshing to drink and head outside, warm despite the chill in the air. Neither of you says anything for a while, simply sipping out of your respective cups as the two of you take in the night.

You turn your gaze Lydia’s way, studying her face, the set of her shoulders. There’s something lighter about her, something… peaceful. As long as you’ve known Lydia, you’ve seen her happy or content, but at peace? Never, not once. It looks beautiful on her, truly.

“What’s happened to you?” you ask, words coming out of your mouth along with an icy puff of air.

Lydia turns to you, eyebrows narrowed, her own breath fogging before her face in the darkness. “What do you mean?”

“You seem different,” you explain, “like all the weight’s fallen off your heart.”

Lydia rolls her eyes at that bit of poetry, but the smile that creeps over her face is rather telling.

“I’m… I’m with someone now.”

A noise of surprise escapes your lips, uncontainable as a bolt of unbridled excitement shocks your chest. Lydia shies away from your exclamation, but you won’t let her off that easily.

“Who is he?” you demand, grabbing her arms now. “Where is he from? What does he do?”

“His name is Jacob, he’s from our planet, and he owns a manufacturing facility,” Lydia tells you, answering all of your questions in one go. “We met a couple of months ago at a harvest party in the country.”

“’Months,’” you breathe, though you can’t bring yourself to be angry at Lydia for not telling you about all of this until now. She’s so guarded, always has been— you’d be a fool for expecting anything less.

“I know,” Lydia concedes, speaking quietly. Some of the light in her eyes flickers for just a moment, jarring you from your euphoric state. “I wanted to be sure it would be different this time.”

You cup Lydia’s cheek then, willing her to stop thinking of that vile man you’re sure she’s seeing in her mind.

“Is he good to you?” you ask, because that’s all you care about. “I mean really good to you.”

And, as if someone flicked a switch, that soft, soft light is glowing in Lydia’s eyes again.

“Jacob is kind,” she tells you, “with his words and with his hands.”

You can’t help the tears that slip down your cheeks, hot reminders of how truly happy you are for this friend of yours. For Lydia, who deserves all of this and so much more.

“Well that’s good,” you begin, swiping at your cheeks, “because if he wasn’t, I’d have to have him executed.”

Lydia lets out a little laugh then, a real one, not one of the humorless barks that you’re much more accustomed to hearing. “I assure you he has no reason to tremble at your feet, Empress.”

It’s a jab, the emphasis Lydia puts on your title, but a playful one. You shove her for it still, rolling your eyes.

“If I remember correctly, you told me you’d help me become a runaway bride at my wedding reception, Lydia.”

The both of you break down into chuckles then, laughing at yourselves and at each other. And though it’s cold, though the wind is biting at your back through your bodice, you feel so very warm, wrapped in the company of an old friend.

“So when do I get to meet this Jacob?” you ask, locking arms with Lydia as the two of you retreat back into the warmth of the party. Your friend shrugs, as practical as ever.

“Well, if you’re willing to endure Princess Mila’s wedding—”

Your whole body shudders to a stop, your feet nearly tangling in your skirts as you take in that particular combination of words.

“Mila’s what?”

Lydia balks beside you, obviously taken aback by your surprise. “You didn’t know? Mila’s due to marry in a month. Your uncle arranged it, I’m sure, some nonsense about making mineral alliances. I can’t believe no one told you. Rumor has it that you and the Supreme Leader were to be invited.”

You’re not sure about all of that, given how you left things with your uncle and his children the night before your wedding, but the news itself is still… discomforting. Mila hasn’t shown you an ounce of kindness in years, but you know good and well what her father’s capable of. Stars, he sold you off without so much as a second thought, not caring what became of you once you were sent to live with Kylo. Everything worked out in your favor, but how were you, or him, or anybody else for that matter supposed to know that? Besides, you don’t think your uncle could get so lucky twice.

Lydia submits to a virtual interrogation right there in the middle of the party, giving up the name of Mila’s betrothed, the exact date of her wedding, and a few other pieces of information that are more gossip than confirmed fact. Apparently, most of the maids and the concubines are saying that your uncle’s selling Mila off to pay some of his gambling debts, the matter made even more sickening by the fact that her future husband is nearly as old as your uncle himself. The mere of idea of this makes your blood boil, for your marriage to Kylo bagged him similar benefits just earlier this year. And, to your horror, the man’s raised taxes on his people yet again without explanation.

Knowing your uncle, he’s taking every single credit and putting it right back on the card table. You knew he was a man who liked to have a good time, but fuck…

“I have to go speak to my husband,” you tell Lydia, pulling her into a quick hug before you start walking off. “Thank you, Lydia, really.”

Kylo is thrilled to see you, tucking you against his side with one strong arm as the officers around him bow. While the affection does make your heart bubble a bit, the anxiety you feel is much more pressing.

“May I speak with you?” you ask Kylo, praying that he senses your urgency.

Your husband takes you away at once, guiding you through the castle and back to your shared chambers without so much as a word of question. He listens intently as you tell him everything, rambling about Mila and your uncle and how the taxes on your planet’s people were already astronomically high to begin with.

“Do you have proof that he’s using the taxpayers’ credits to fund his lifestyle?” Kylo asks, coming to help you with the zipper on your dress. You shake your head as you slip your arms out of the sleeves, rushing to throw on something comfortable and warm.

“No,” you concede, “but I know how he is. When I came to live with him, I always wondered how he afforded the parties, and the women, and everything else that he fills his free time with. And it worries me that my uncle’s already angling to having his debts paid off again, especially at the expense of shipping Mila off to be with a man that he could have gone to school with. She’s supposed to be finishing her education, not helping him get out from under a bad habit.”

Kylo nods at that, though the look in his eyes expresses reservation. “My love,” he begins slowly, “why… why do you want to help your cousin? From what you’ve told me, she’s been awful to you all your life, and I certainly didn’t like what I saw of her at our rehearsal dinner.”

It’s a good question, and a hard one to answer at that. Kylo lets you think for a moment, pulling together some night clothes to wear to bed in the meantime.

“I want to help her because… because my uncle won’t live forever, and it’s not like he’s doing a good job of ruling as it is. My uncle may be impulsive, but he’s not stupid. Sebastian couldn’t pour water out of a boot if the instructions were on the heel, and Tensin is no better. Mila, though… Mila is cruel, but her wit is sharp. Without her working behind her brothers, the planet’s fucked.”

You pause for a minute, a bit irritated by your more sentimental feelings now.

“And, as a woman, I can’t send her off to marry that man. He’s old enough to be her father, and you know how all of those Valderan mineral barons are. I worry about what would become of her, what he would make her do…” You picture Lydia’s sad eyes, and something in your chest clenches. “Mila may be awful, but I can’t sell her out like that, not for my uncle’s bullshit. I remember how afraid I was when we got engaged, how much I feared not being able to please you.”

Kylo’s hand is warm on your face, the back of his fingers stroking over the curve of your cheek. You press into the touch, taking his hand in both of your own.

“But of course, all of my worrying was for naught because you’re more loving and gentle than I could have ever imagined. You respect me, and you want me to be happy, but I have a feeling that that’s not how Mila’s husband will feel.”

“If you think something must be done, then by all means, step in. I’ll have a ship prepared for you tomorrow at once.”

The both of you go to get in bed, more to relax than to lie down the night.

“No,” you say, waving Kylo off, “let me do some digging first. I want to be sure I’m right before I go off and make a big fuss at home.”

---

You’re back on the Supremacy by late afternoon, anxious to get to the bottom of all of this. Hux, ever the good friend, briefs the Board of Charitable Affairs for you, allowing you time to hole up in your office for most of the day.

You pore over financial documents, intel from First Order informants, and numerous reports, looking for discrepancies or abnormalities in your home planets spending and accounts. It’s no surprise to find that your uncle’s run up a long list of expenses, many of which are listed as “miscellaneous” or “personal”— or, to the layperson, stimulants and whores. However, no one’s cooking the books. It appears as though every credit is accounted for, every tax dollar where it should be— the money’s just being spent like it’s in the hands of a child. With everything correct (in an extremely technical sense) on your uncle’s end, you move on to Mila’s fiancé, a nagging feeling in your gut telling you that he warrants investigation.

Tarlak Tu’Iuni is middle-aged, decent-looking, and filthily, disgustingly rich. Mineral money, naturally, seeing that he was born and raised on Valdera. He’s never been married before Mila, but he has a couple of illegitimate daughters that he seems to care for in some capacity. However, Tarlak’s personal life matters little to you. It’s always the money with the mineral barons; they can be perfectly good people in their personal lives— real upstanding citizens, even— but they just cannot keep their accounts straight to save their lives. They always want a little extra, they’re always moving money around… Lets just say that paying taxes and being frugal are two things that do not come easily to the Vaderan elite.

But, well— you’re the Empress of the Known Galaxy. For every slick accountant a mineral baron like Tarlak Tu’Iuni has in his corner, you have five even slicker financial investigators in yours.

Your team comes to you with a report in a matter of hours, and you nearly fall down when you learn of their findings.

“You’re absolutely sure?” you ask the woman before you, clutching onto the datapad in your hands for dear life.

“We triple checked all of the transactions. These people are good, I must admit,” she affirms, shaking her. “This is the sort of fraud you have to really look for. I’m not surprised we weren’t tipped off until you made us start looking for inconsistencies.”

You blow out a huge breath, anxious and enraged all at once as you scroll through the numbers. Your companion’s right— even laid out plainly this way, most it seems legit.

“Would you like me to contact the Guard?”

“No,” you tell the woman, though you’re grateful for her loyalty and sense of urgency. “Tell no one of this. I’ll handle it.”

“Yes, Empress.”

And then you and your bearer of bad news are going your separate ways, she to brief the team on your wishes and you to find your husband.

It’s later than you’d realized, the intensity of your work sapping away time with little effort. The ship’s night cycle is well underway, guard shifts down to barebones personnel, most corridors empty and quiet.

Kylo is with his nights, just as you suspected, the lot of them stowed away in a dark corner of the ship that they like to frequent. Each one rises to their feet upon seeing you, the Knights bowing in respect as your husband comes to greet you.

“She’s been skimming off of the charity accounts,” you declare, holding out the datapad for Kylo to take before he can so much as say hello. “Her and all her fucking friends on Valdera. Mila’s fiancé is going to essentially paying off my uncle’s debts with money he and Chairwoman Evan stole from the Palgoduan donations and a couple of lesser projects in the Outer Rim. Millions of fucking credits, Kylo! Millions! And that’s just recently!”

You don’t mean to shout, but rage is hot in your veins now. Kylo looks horrified and bewildered all at the same time, scrolling through the information you’ve given him quickly. Not two seconds later, the air seems to crackle all around you, lights flickering under the influence of Kylo’s powers.

“Is your uncle in on this?” he asks you, eyes dark and wild as he regards you. The Knights stand at attention now, waiting for orders, waiting to be sent off for an attack.

“No,” you scoff, waving your hand flippantly. “They’d be stupid to involve someone like him in this. This is inside shit, crime committed amongst a tight-knit group of intelligent people. I wasn’t even looking for something like this, my team found it when I had them doublecheck Tarlak’s accounts.”

“It’s a good thing you did,” Kylo says, trying to stay calm even though you know an outburst is bubbling up inside him. His fist is tight at his side, shoulders tense and taunt. And the energy in the room… You’re just grateful he isn’t angry at you.

Finally, your husband hands the datapad back.

“We’ll deal with this issue at once,” he declares, and the Knights are ready to follow him out of the room without so much as a cue, the lot of them already grabbing for weapons and tools of destruction.

“Kylo,” you cut, stepping into his path. “Kylo, my love, let’s talk about this first.”

“That bitch stole money from the Order,” he spits, murder in his eyes. “All of those credits are for food, and medicine, and schools—”

“I know that, my love,” you soothe, though a fresh wave of rage does sweep through your insides at the notion of one of your subjects going hungry so that Evan and her cronies can play another hand of cards. “But we have an opportunity to make a statement here. Gutting Evan in her quarters may be satisfying now, but why not put let everyone else see what happens when they try to steal from the Order? Why not show the galaxy that we’re in control, that no one can just get away with things like this?”

Kylo draws in a shaky breath.

“I will have the offenders arrested at once. They shall be executed on a live broadcast tomorrow afternoon.”

You nod at that, satisfied with the statement. Still, you know your husband well.

“Well,” you begin, smoothing down the front of his shirt, pulling a few pieces of hair out of his face, “I never said all of them had to be executed publicly— just the important ones.”

Kylo’s hands come to rest on your hips, his grip tight on your body. Feigning innocence, you begin caressing his cheek in lazy, slow strokes.

“I also think it would be wise if we got a few of the main players to confess. You know, just so no one thinks we’re making this up. I’m sure you and the Knights could handle that, right, darling?”

#kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren fanfiction #star wars #star wars fanfiction #ame #my writing

[365days365movies]

February 27, 2021: Love Actually (Part 2)

In case you hadn’t noticed by now...this movie is a lot.

I won’t dwell, and I’ll get back into All Around, but just trust me...this is a bit too much. All I know is that they packed way too much in this film, which is also somehow too long? It’s a lot, yeah? OK, first part of the Recap is right here, let’s get into the second half before I lose my nerve.

Recap (2/2)

So, good news is, Rodrigo and Sarah start dancing at the party, then start to hook up at her place! But the sad news (not bad, just sad) is that it’s interrupted by calls from her brother, Michael (Michael Fitzgerald), a very mentally ill man who lives in an asylum. Their love affair is cut short, and Sarah visits him the next day, where he lashes out at her and claims the nurses are trying to kill him, before being subdued. YIKES. Fuckin’s whiplash.

A little more sadness, as Karen’s convinced that Harry’s fallen out of love with her, having seen how he interacted with the attractive Mia at the party. That’s going to cause some friction, I’m sure. This is folllowed by Mia’s flirtations the following afternoon, which are once again accepted by Harry with no words to the contrary. He also calls her as he’s out, and he appears to be giving into the flirtation, rather than denying them. And as he’s meeting Karen for shopping! Dammit, Harry.

At the store, he buys a necklace for Mia from jewelry salesman Rufus (Rowan Atkinson!). Rufus asks is Harry wants the necklace gift-wrapped, and he agrees. And Rufus...Rufus is the best gift-wrapper of all time. Seriously, the man is a fucking ARTIST. His attention to detail is astonishing, and I love him. Harry doesn’t, as it’s taking way to long. YOU CANNOT RUSH PERFECTION, HARRY! But, yeah, it’s taking too long, and Karen shows up. Harry abandons the necklace, and poor devoted Rufus.

One week until Christmas, as holiday shenanigans take place with everybody! Jamie’s learning Portuguese for Aurélia. Colin (yeah, remember him?) is headed to America, while his roommate Tony is back to work at the film set, where Judy and Jack are being stand-ins for a myriad of sex positions, and Jack asks Judy on a date, which she accepts! A very cute couple, all things considered. They go out on a date on Christmas Eve, and the two kiss on the doorstep. They are legitimately adorable.

Colin arrives at a bar in the United States, and as soon as he orders a beer, his accent IMMEDIATELY draws the attention of Stacey, Jeannie, and Carol-Anne (Ivana Miličević, January Jones, and Elisha Cuthbert). And...IT FUCKING WORKED? These girls are all immediately into him, and invite him to stay with them at their place. However, they only have a small bed, and no couch. Not to mention the fourth girl, Harriet. But he bites the bullet, and accepts the invitation. And once he gets there, the sex proceeds in shadow. I cannot believe it worked, and it’s kind of hilarious.

Meanwhile, the jig is up for Harry. He did indeed get the necklace, and Karen finds it in his pocket before Christmas, assuming that it’s for her. However, when Christmas comes, Harry gives her a Joni Mitchell CD instead, and she realizes that the necklace was for Mia. Which is...shattering. Karen’s extremely hurt by this, fucking understandably.

Christmas Eve! Billy Mack’s song, despite the odds being completely against him, has reached the number one spot on the charts. He appears to be quite happy at a party celebrating him, although his manager appear slightly less so. Wonder why. Jamie, meanwhile, heads to the airport, quite on impulse. Wonder why.

Karl bids Sarah a good night and a Merry Christmas, and she cries when she realizes that their chance of getting together again is shot. Damn. She goes to visit her brother, and I gotta say - she’s a very loving sister. And then...well, it’s the scene. The most famous scene in the movie. You know the one.

And here’s the thing about this scene: is it superficially romantic? Yeah, sure, I guess. And it’s true that Mark doesn’t actually expect anything to come from this, but...this is still an AMAZINGLY shitty thing to do to someone in a committed relationship that involves your friend. Because it could potentially sabotage their relationship. I mean, maybe she’d be tempted to kiss you in a brief moment of infidelity that initially seems romantic, but is kinda fucked up when you really think about it.

Yeah, yeah, LITERALLY JUST LIKE THAT

OK, after that terrible idea, Bill shows up by surprise at his manager Joe’s place, and notes that he could be going to a big party at this point, but Christmas is a time to spend with his family and loved ones, and that the closest thing to that is, in fact, his manager, who is in fact the love of his life. Not sure if that’s necessarily romantic, but that is still sweet. Anyway, they get drunk and watch porn together. Yup.

David, meanwhile, gets a bevy of Christmas cards, one of which comes from Natalie. She apologizes for the kiss situation, and refers to herself as “Your Natalie”. Time to get in the fuckin’ car, David. He drives down to her neighborhood, and goes from door-to-door until he finds Natalie’s place. Her and her entire family are headed to a school concert, and David offers to give her and her little brother a lift there.

On the way there, the two begin to admit their feelings for one another, and Natlie notes that the President forced herself on her, but nothing else happened. While he’s reluctant about the whole affair, she brings him into the concert backstage. As he enters, he runs into his sister Katie, who’s glad to see him, and is clearly holding back tears because of the Harry situation. Judy and Jack are also there, as well as Daniel and Sam (who’s in the concert).

The kids’ concert takes place, and its headed by a solo from Sam’s crush, Joanna (Olivia Olson), who...WAIT, OLIVIA OLSON? As in...

...Huh. Of all the members of this ensemble cast, she’s the one I least expected! But OK! As expected, she’s an excellent singer, and headlines a rendition of Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas”. Which seems mildly inappropriate for a kid’s concert, but whatever, sure. She points at various people when saying “is you” in the song, but never at Sam, who’s on the drums. Oof. Sorry, buddy.

The song ends, and the curtain drops, and...

Well, uh...shit. I ean, I’m happy for them both, but David’s officially FUCKED at this point. However, the crowd seems to receive it very well, and that’s lucky. The night ends, and everyone disbands for the night. Harry and Karen are amongst them, and Karen confronts him. She asks what would he do if he were in her position, revealing her knowledge about the necklace. And it’s...affecting, goddamn. He’s made a fool of himself and of her, and she’s struggling.

Daniel congratulates Sam about his performance, but notes that it didn’t work Still, Daniel encourages him to tell Joanna his feelings for her, and he goes to get his things first. Daniel bumps into Carol (Claudia Schiffer), and there’s a connection. Daniel and Sam go to speak with Joanna, but they’re on their way to the airport. They run to meet her there, like in a terrible romance movie. Wait - 

At the airport, Daniel and Sam are too late, but decide to make a run for it while Rufus (KING OF GIFT WRAPPERS) is holding up the attendant while looking for his boarding pass. Sam bolts, unnoticed, and Rufus walks away, giving Daniel a knowing look as he passes by, LIKE A KING. Sam bolts through the metal detectors, as the post-9/11 airport attendants RIGHTFULLY FREAK OUT ABOUT THIS WHOLE SITUATION. However, they’re once again distracted by Billy Mack on TV and he catches up to Joanna before being taken away by the fuzz. However, she gives him a kiss on the cheek, and Sam and Daniel hug. Supportive father-son relationship is sweet. 

Jamie goes to find Aurélia in Portugal, and the entire village ends up following him until getting to the restaurant were he works, and proposes to her in INSANELY broken Portuguese, which is hilarious. And she accepts...IN ENGLISH! Which is saccharine as fuck...but also sweet.

We cut to a month later, and everybody’s at the airport for the Epilogue. And we’re gonna do this...well, bit by bit.

Billy Mack and Joe: Career’s going well, and a comeback is imminent. Not in a romantic relationship, but still extremely close friends...I think.

Juliet, Peter, and Mark: Juliet and Peter are still together; Mark is still single, seemingly. They meet up with...

Jamie and Aurélia: Coming to England for the first time together, and still in love.

Daniel and Sam: Went to see Joanna at the airport, and Daniel is now dating Carol, which is nice!

Harry and Karen: Oof, icy. They definitely don’t appear to be on good terms, and we never learn why Harry’s been away, but yeah. Not looking good for their relationship, understandably.

Jack and Judy: Married! FUCK YEAH! Adorable. They run into...

Colin and Tony: Colin’s back, and he’s brought back Harriet (Shannon Elizabeth) and her sister Carla (Denise Richards), who IMMEDIATELY takes a liking to Tony and they make out at the gate. Can’t believe that Colin was right, goddamn.

David and Natalie: David’s back from a visit somewhere overseas, and he and Natalie happily reunite right in front of the press, and it’s sweet.

And we’re full-circle, as countless people at the airport reunite in loving embraces. And, I gotta say...it is sweet, but you ever been to a crowded airport around Christmastime? Dude, I’ve been to JFK around that time period, and lemme tell you, it’s less happy reunions, and more pissed-off TSA, lost luggage, stressed out EVERYBODY, and Cinnabon. That last one’s not a complaint...I just really want Cinnabon.

Mmmmmmmm...OH RIGHT, THAT’S All Around (AKA Love Actually). This has been...a lot. BUT, I’ll get into the whole thing in the Review! See you there!

#love actually #richard curtis #hugh grant #liam neeson #colin firth #laura linney #emma thompson #alan rickman #keira knightley #bill nighy #Lúcia Moniz #thomas sangster #andrew lincoln #Chiwetel Ejiofor #Martine McCutcheon #Martin Freeman #Joanna Page #Heike Makatsch #Nina Sosanya #rodrigo santoro #user365 #365 movie challenge #365 movies 365 days #365 Days 365 Movies #365 movies a year #romance february #usereve #dailyshowbiz #userbrittany #usercori

[rankdisasster]

obstacle 1

Billy Hargrove x fem reader

“24 & 41 w some soft billy 🤧” requested by anonymous.

#24: “You’re trembling.”

#41: “I feel like I can’t breathe.” from dialogue prompts

warning(s): slurs, violence, panic attacks

a/n: angst but it gets better I promise!! title of the fic comes from a fucking phenomenal Interpol song. also beware if you send me a number from a prompt list there’s no way I know how to make it short like a drabble, I only know how to draw it out pretty much haha.

—

“What the fuck is the matter with you? Huh?”

Billy’s back had been shoved up against the wall, his lip trembling and eyes red rimmed with unshed tears. His father’s fingers are tightly clutched around his jacket, ugly nostrils widely flared, looking down at his own son as if he were a mistake; as if he were the scum of the fucking earth. And Billy knows that that’s true, too.

“I had to get a call from the sheriff, at—” his father breaks eye contact for a split second to eye the clock that hangs on his son’s bedroom wall, “three-thirty in the goddamn morning, only to be told that my gracious son has been caught stealing chocolate bars from the drugstore, like some fucking delinquent. How do you think this makes me feel, William? As your own flesh and blood,” his father sighs and pats his own chest, pretending like he’s hurt because Billy made a fool of himself and embarrassed his family. Of course, only his father would be making all this about himself yet again and not seeing with his blind dumb eyes that it’s a cry for attention and help.

It was impulsive and stupid, Billy can admit that at least.

He was hungry, he felt like acting out, and there just so happened to be a drugstore nearby and thought it’d be kinda funny. Billy assumed that the security would be shit, and he also assumed he’d be smooth enough to not get caught. He played the part pretty well, at least what he considered to be convincing. Whistling and peeking at his surroundings as he casually stuffed around twelve, maybe even more chocolate bars down his pants and coat pockets and then sprinting like a bat out of hell to the parking lot.

He swore he was in the clear, and would eventually get to enjoy the candy bars and have a funny story to tell you later. Have a happy ending to one of his shenanigans for once, instead of ending in tears and blood. That is until the way-too-beefy-for-this-job clerk behind the counter saw him and called him out before chasing him down, slamming his entire front into the concrete. Holding him there until the boys in blue show up and handcuff his hands behind his back before shoving him in the backseat. The bruises from the comfy cement came out nice and big, Billy already checked them out in the bathroom mirror at the station. Seriously, he’d never seen a guy get that protective over Kit-Kat bars since he was in grade school.

After fucking begging the officers to just let him off the hook and promising it’ll never happen again, that it was just a silly fluke; they had betrayed him, and unsurprisingly at that. Like all authoritative figures have done to him his entire eighteen years of living. The pricks really did it, they really called his dad on him, and now here we are.

“Answer me this instant!”

Billy flinched at the deafening tone his father used to screamed right into his face. Their noses are practically touching. He can even smell his father’s alcohol consumption through his breath, and it’s so fucking grotesque that Billy wants to throw everything he ate that day up.

“I got popped for stealing chocolate, s’not the worst thing I’ve done,” he weakly murmurs, cursing himself internally because he felt a tear bust out of his left eye. He can’t cry in front of this monster, he fucking can’t.

Why can’t this be over with already? Why not just a slap on the wrist, one and done? This shouldn’t be as bad as the time he got caught tripping on acid in the woods that his weird ass classmate Mike gave to him. Yet he’s still here, spitting on Billy’s face and gripping him tighter, voice thundering louder. Susan doesn’t ever give a fuck about what’s happening to her step son, so why would Billy be foolishly praying that she would save the day this time? The helpless boy even imagines a scenario ending with his little step sibling Max stepping in and calling the cops. But all that’s just wishful thinking. Those things only happen to people who are cared about, and nobody gives a rats ass for Billy’s well-being in this household. Not even the cops would throw his nutcase of a father in jail and swallow the key.

The cops only care about petty misdemeanors, such as teenagers stealing candy bars from drugstores. They wouldn’t bat an eye at seeing a troublemaker like Billy with bruises and scabs scattered all over his face. They don’t care. None of them do, and none of them listen either.

“Yeah yeah, sure. It’s just a couple candy bars, right? But here’s how thieves work,” Neil starts his lesson, looking down his nose and pointing a finger at Billy’s face accusingly. “First, it’s just a candy bar. No big deal, right? You’re just having a little fun. Then, it gets bigger. You get away with that, then one day, you think you can get away with stealing a car,” he takes Billy’s jaw in one hand to keep him in place before giving his cheek a quick sharp slap, leaving it stinging and flushing red. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”

The first punch is always a shock, and has the teen holding his breath waiting for what the next one will feel like.

“You are a fucking disgrace, a worthless juvenile with nothing better to do,” his father winds up for round two, even grinning like a sadistic bastard. He grins even wider when he sees his son’s face leak with more tears, and hissing when he wipes his own face too hard from brushing the evidence of the blow with his finger. More insults are thrown at him, like “faggot” or “disappointment”. He’s heard it all before, but it’s seeping further into his skull now, right along with his dear old dad’s fist. Cutting deep, deeper than it ever has, and not just in his face.

And Billy, paralyzed and hopless while lying on the ground, realizes that his father had to have been right all along.

Throughout his teens he consciously wondered if he actually was the reason Mom left, or if that’s just his dad fucking with his head. Which usually happens to be the case. But now, Billy is petrified that he’s telling the truth, and he’s giving it to him raw, like a sick reminder of his utter worthlessness. Maybe he will grow up to be no good, just another bum and a thief, getting caught doing more stupid shit. Billy wonders if this is really a sign that he should wise up before it’s too late.

His dad has finally stopped knocking his head into the wall and sucker punching his nose and cheeks, now seemingly satisfied with the work of art done to the boy’s face. With blood pouring from the boy’s nose like a faucet, he scrambles to plug it up and hug himself while bracing for a potential next hit. To Billy’s relief, his dad up and leaves at that, slamming the door behind him with a scoff and more damaging insults murmured under his breath. As soon as the door is shut, the boy fumbles to shove open his window, rushing to crawl the fuck out and nicking his injuries on the way out. He can’t fucking take this anymore.

By the time he’s out in his driveway, tears are still flooding out of his fucked up purple eyes and he rips open his Camaro door. While starting up the engine, he shakes his head before speeding to the only safe place he knows.

Your room.

—

When Billy makes it to your house, still just as hot of a mess as he was when he was being beaten and screamed at, the way up to your room was no picnic. He skinned his knee on the way down, falling three or four times before finally making it. His strength isn’t at it’s best at the moment. He carelessly shoves your window open and stumbles as he climbs through, landing directly on the floor. His back is to your door, and he adjusts himself to sitting with his legs crossed as he waits for your return. You’re probably downstairs, or in the bathroom. He doesn’t fucking know, but he wouldn’t doubt that you’d leave him too, like everyone else had when they discovered how much of a burden all his issues really are. History often repeats itself, and maybe it’s a mistake unveiling his mask and shitting all over you with his fucked up problems, but he doesn’t know where else to go.

Yours and Billy’s relationship strictly consisted of fun. Just joking around without any drama, maybe once in a while getting up to no good together. When you two would drink heavily in your room on weekends, sometimes he’d kiss you but you wouldn’t talk about it in the morning. Because that’d be just too much to deal with, and the packaged guarentee he got with you was that you weren’t anything to deal with. You were the most laid back, good time he’d had in this town. This wouldn’t be the first time he’d snuck up to your window and crawled in, however, it will be the first time he ever showed up this vulnerable and seeking comfort. Your comfort, specifically.

Billy’s back is still facing the door when you finally arrive, and you let out a squeal in fear before recognizing it’s him. You’d know that mullet, that jacket, and those tight blue jeans absolutely anywhere. It was your good friend Billy sitting on your floor.

“Holy shit man, you scared the Jesus outta me. Gimme a warning next time, ay?” you laugh, holding your chest to slow your quick heart down. It’s pretty late, and it’s a typical Saturday. You’re in your pajamas with a rejuvenating green face mask smothered all over your skin, as well as a bowl of cookie dough icecream in your grasp. It almost went flying when Billy had frightened you, and that would’ve been a bitch to clean off the carpet.

“I have some cookie dough icecream here. I could get you your own bowl too, if you want,” you offer, not yet hearing a peep from the boy seated on the ground. He’s eerily quiet, but you’re still oblivious to it all. “I heard this gossip around town, and oh my god, it totally reminded me of you. Some dipshit got caught stealing a bunch of Kit-Kat bars from the store right by your place,” you chuckle, then worry a bit as he remains unresponsive.

“Billy?” you tread lightly as you tip toe closer to him, then observe his shoulders shaking, and then his entire body too as if it were freezing in here or something.

“You’re trembling,” you notice, now terrified of knowing what happened to this boy to make him this freakishly twitchy. You hastily put your hand on Billy’s shoulder before the ice finally breaks. He turns his head to you , finally exposing the dried blood that’s still down his nose, as well as the black and blue all over his face. His tears were falling silently at first until he steadily starts to sob violently, letting you cradle him in your arms and shush him soothingly.

“I’m— I, I didn’t mean to, it was just s’pposted to be a joke, but I messed up so bad, he got so mad at me this time, and—“

“Who? Who got mad at you?”

Billy’s vision is blurring rapidly, to the point of barely seeing any shapes or colors. His chest is heaving up and down way too fast to be normal, and he thinks he’s about to have a fucking heart attack. His dad would probably throw a parade if his son moved into a hospital instead.

“I feel like I can’t breathe,” he panics, whole body still trembling while holding you tight enough to hurt as his salty tears land on your shirt. You could give a fuck about your mask that’s still on your face and getting slightly ruined. Little bits of it is now smothering Billy’s hair, and that makes you want to smile, but this is no time to be smiling.

“Do you want some water? Fuck, I think I have a water bottle in my bag—“

“Please don’t leave me,” he implored, halting you from getting up by burying his beaten face into your chest.

“You got it! I’m staying right here, I swear. Um, I might remember the steps to doing mouth-to-mouth, if you need that?” your eyes are wide and apprehensive, praying to whatever God in the sky that Billy doesn’t die in your arms tonight. That seemed to get him to crack a smile, a weak one, but small progress is still progress. “I’m serious! I might be wishing I payed more attention in class when they talked about this stuff, but I’m here for you. I’m practically PhD certified,” you assure him, sounding less than convincing. Your ignorance is working it’s magic though, humoring Billy and making him finally take deep breaths at a normal rate, instead of the hyperventilating he’d been doing a second ago.

“Pfft. Sure, yeah, I can tell I’m in real good hands here. You got any a’ that cookie dough left, Doc?” he sniffles and licks his lips, staring at the bowl that still has a decent amount of scoops of the dessert left unmelted.

“Hell yeah, and there’s more where that came from. In fact, when you leave tonight, or tomorrow— whatever, you can stay as long as you want— I expect you to gain at least five pounds from this,” you hand the bowl over to his grabby hands, smiling sweetly as he scarfs it down. He suddenly stops for a moment and shrieks when he eats too much too fast, giving himself brain freeze. “You eat faster than my dog.”

“I’ll take the win on that challenge, actually,” he grins, inhaling more of the creamy dessert, letting out occasional hums when he gets an especially good bite of the sugary cookie dough.

After a beat of silence, you decide to get up and put a record on your record player, sticking with a classic Tom Petty album, setting it on low so that there’s some background. You know Billy favors it too, remembering all the drives you’d go on together with Petty playing through his speakers. You head to the bathroom which is only a small distance of five steps away, you grab a washcloth and wet it with warm water to clean Billy’s gross bloody face. You’ve never seen a guy look as fucked up as he did right now in real life. Only in the movies had you seen blood oozing from somebody’s face, or splotchy bruises like polka dots sitting on somebody’s face. Basically, you had no idea how to help him, but you were gonna try. He came to you after all, he trusted you enough to let you see this side of him.

“Is this the part where you give me that line, shit, what is it? Oh yeah, ‘you should have seen the other guy’?” you ask as you go up to him, making sure you’re as gentle as a feather while dabbing the damp lukewarm cloth on his battered cheekbones as he continues to eat.

“Nah, the other guy is just fine if you ask him,” Billy scoffs, finishing the bowl and putting it down next to him. He zips up his jacket further up his neck, then shoves his hands in his pockets as you tend to his wounds.

“You cold?”

“Eh, kinda. Not really though,” he answers, but you’re able to read between the lines at his body language then reach behind you to your bed, dragging a blanket over. Ignoring his protests about not needing to be babied this hard, you wrap it around him. He just shuts up and nods his thanks, holding it tighter by proving you right about how chilly he felt.

“I’m sorry about all this, by the way. I probably freaked you out, and I’m kinda wishing I hadn’t done that,” he sighs, in hindsight realizing how humiliating his meltdown was.

“Don’t apologize for showing emotion. That’s a fucked up male habit,” you scold, the boy nodding vigorously.

“It was me, you know,” he says , resulting in you raising your brows at the questionable ambiguity. He rolls his eyes at having to explain himself then goes on. “I did it. I uh, stole all those Kit-Kats from the store.”

You pause your cleansing his face then can’t hold in your giggles anymore at the fact that you were fucking right, of course Billy would be the one to do a thing like that.

“Yeah yeah, laugh it up Y/N,” he claps his hands, sarcastically urging you on.

“C’mon, that’s some priceless shit!”

“At least someone found it funny,” he grumbles, staring down at his hands and the soft blanket keeping him warm.

“What’s the matter with you?” you ask playfully, covering your mouth muffle your boisterous laughter.

That stiffens the boy up, thinking back to his father’s words, “What the fuck is the matter with you, huh?”

“Holy shit, you should’ve called me! I so would’ve been there to like, cause a distraction, maybe flirt with the cashier so that you could take a pack of those expensive cigarettes you’ve always wanted to try,” you laugh, then take his silence into account and find him shutting down again. You don’t know what you said, but you had to make it right.

“Hey, hey now. Don’t get all emo on me again, we were just starting to have some fun,” you peek his undamaged chin up, looking at him in the eyes and trying to stay positive, or better yet keep him distracted from his demons that won’t quit.

“Do, um. You don’t think I’m gonna grow up a low life asshole, do you?” he asks, wanting to hear it from somebody that he’s doing a good job. Making somebody on this earth proud, because pleasing his dad is a lost cause, and getting back his mom is about as likely.

“No. Why? Is it that you think you will?”

“Kinda, yeah. That’s what everyone drills into my head anyways,” he laughs, but you refuse to because that isn’t funny.

“Well if you give me all their names, I’ll go to wherever they’re at and sock them in the face. I don’t care if they’re bigger than me, I’m fucking doing it. Let’s go, come on. What are their names?” you assert without an ounce of humor. Billy’s lips curl into a smile, huddling further into the soft blanket you had given him. He isn’t at all in control of how fucking wide his lips get when he grins, all from the fact that his short stack best friend would do all that just for him. He suddenly wants to rub it in his sad sack of a father’s face that somebody really cares about him.

And he wants to really kiss that somebody right now.

“Think it’s time you wash that uh, whatever that is,” he gestures to the face mask that’s since dried when he came, “Off your face. I could come with you, if you want.”

Your blush is hidden under the green goo, and you nod your head in confirmation before grabbing his hand to lead you two to the bathroom.

“What is it even for, anyway?”

“Oh. For like, exfoliating, and... honestly, I don’t know. It could be complete bullshit, I just threw it on hoping something might happen,” you give up trying to explain your attempt at keeping up with personal hygiene, then Billy just shushes you and points to the sink to hurry you on washing it off.

With a good three minutes of Billy staring intently at you splashing your face with water, you self consciously look away and grab a towel to dry off. He looks you down once more, shakes his head, then leans in and caresses your cheeks with both his hands. His kiss is long and makes you feel so warm and tingly everywhere, but you’re mostly worried about fucking up his face doing this. As if on cue, your nose bonks his, making him moan.

“I’m so so sorry, did that— that hurt you, didn’t it?” you ask with dread, before he shuts you up with another kiss, not letting what his dad had done to him stop him from enjoying you. After making out by the sink for as long as he could hold out for, the two of you pull back and take a breather, still panting and smiling so happily. He pets your perfect cheeks that rest in his palms, and he hums in thought before speaking.

“Your skin’s real soft,” he observes.

“Yeah? Thanks, I um. Guess the face mask isn’t total bull after all,” you laugh, most of it coming from the nerves.

“Huh. I could try it sometime, yunno, only if you keep your mouth shut about it,” he playfully threats, poking you in your stomach as you continue laughing from how it tickled you.

Billy decides to stay the night at yours, playing the little spoon in your arms tonight. Tom Petty is still quietly singing from your record player, the empty bowl that was once filled with cookie dough icecream still sitting on the floor. The boy’s face hasn’t gotten much better, and he knows he’ll have to deal with his dad again tomorrow. It’s inevitable, really. But he knows now that you’re by his side, ready and willing to even whoop his dad’s ass if he gets him hurt again. And that’s more than enough for Billy to feel like he can really pull through.

—

happier about how this one turned out:) thank you all so much for being so kind and patient and everything. the people who write on here are wonderful, the people who read on here are wonderful, everybody is so amazing and I can’t express how grateful I am!!

I really wanted to write the reader as being kinda clueless about what to do with taking care of him, cause I’ll be honest, I have no idea what I’d do if a guy like him ever came to me looking super fucked up😂

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove imagine #stranger things #stranger things fanfic

[syntaxeme]

One Good Turn ch. 5 [end]

[Read on AO3] | [First Chapter]  Rating: M Story summary: Angel’s clean streak is broken when Val forcibly calls him back to the studio. On principle (and not at all out of concern for Angel's wellbeing), Alastor takes it upon himself to free Angel from Valentino's control. But what started as a simple favor becomes something much more complicated, all because of an innocent thank-you kiss. Note: I did have another chapter planned for this story, but I’ve gotten so thoroughly invested in my Giardino Segreto AU that I don’t think I’ll ever get around to it. Besides, this isn’t a terrible place to leave off!

— — –

Angel’s back was pinned against the wall in the hotel’s abandoned excuse for a ballroom. The room was mostly dark, a little light from the setting sun bleeding in through dingy windows while he lazily observed one of his fellow patrons trying to make a move on him. The other demon was a little taller than Angel himself, a little broader, and he used his extra bit of height to his advantage, leaning forward against the wall to bear down on Angel.

“You talk a pretty big game, sweet thing.” His name was some kind of music joke: Jazz or Ska or House or some shit. “I’d sure like to see you put your money where your mouth is.”

“I can think of better things to put in my mouth,” Angel snickered. As the other demon grinned and reached up to pet his cheek, Angel slapped his hand away and went on, “But your dick ain’t one of ‘em. Fuck off and find someone else to bother.”

“Are you serious?” Maybe-Jazz growled. “You sit there makin’ offers all through Charlie’s sessions but you won’t follow through?”

“Offers? Please. Look, I ain’t serious about any of that shit; I’m sayin’ it to fuck with ya, not to actually fuck ya.” This wasn’t the first time he’d had to explain this over the past week or so, but truth be told, he was kind of enjoying having the freedom to say ‘no’ (not that his sex drive wasn’t as strong as ever, but he’d gotten pickier about who he was willing to spend it on—a lot pickier).

“Well I’m not into being teased, so maybe you better reconsider.” Jazz snaked an arm around Angel’s waist, incorrectly thinking this was a situation he could brute-force his way through. As if his vague bullshit threats were anything compared to what Angel had been through in the past.

Cute. His body moved almost by reflex, one hand grabbing Jazz’s shirt to reverse their positions and shove him back against the wall. His other hands reached into his jacket and drew out a matching set of three pistols, pressing one to Jazz’s temple, one to his chest, and aiming the last at his crotch.

“Which trigger should I pull first, ya think?” Angel asked casually, enjoying the shocked and disarmed look on the other demon’s face. “You could probably live without your balls, but I feel like you don’t get much use outta your brain, either.”

“Hey, cool it,” Jazz grumbled, raising his hands in surrender. “You know killin’ me’d set back your redemption plan pretty far.”

“Ha! You must not know me very well, sweet thing. I’m a backslider from way back; wouldn’t be the first time my virtues got a little blurry.” After another moment of enjoying the tension, he released the other demon’s shirt and took a step back. “But fuckin’ you up isn’t worth listenin’ to Charlie gripe. So how ‘bout you get the hell outta my face and we call it even?”

“Fine. Shit.” With a bitter, disappointed glance in Angel’s direction, Jazz shoved his hands in his pockets and stalked out of the room. Angel twirled his guns once before tucking them back into his jacket. He was just in such a good goddamn mood lately, and he didn’t have to wonder why; true to Alastor’s word, none of Val’s guys had shown up at the hotel since their little ‘chat,’ leaving Angel free to enjoy his independence and sexuality—or lack thereof!—whatever way he chose. Since he’d been working for Val so long, it was refreshing to be back in control of himself now. And he hadn’t forgotten for even a second who he had to thank for it.

Alastor had been acting a little weird since then, though. Looking at him funny, not responding to his playful flirting right, and then there was that word—cher—he’d started using. Angel might not have the best grasp of French, but he was pretty sure he recognized that term. Enough to know what it meant but not what it meant.

As he strolled out of the ballroom Jazz had dragged him into without warning, he found Alastor standing outside, clutching his staff tightly in both hands. “Angel,” he said a little too cheerfully. “How are you? I thought…well, I could’ve been wrong. It sounded like you and Jazz had a bit of a disagreement.”

“Is there anything in the hotel you don’t hear?” Angel tried hard not to think about how many times he’d moaned the Radio Demon’s name into his pillow over the past few nights.

“Not much.” Alastor’s default expression didn’t shift in the slightest. It wasn’t easy, but Angel was making a point of learning to tell one smile from another. How else would he ever learn to read the cryptic bastard? “But you look fine. I suppose you took care of it.”

“Y’know, it’s pretty cute, you gettin’ all protective,” Angel said with a knowing grin, “but don’t start thinkin’ I can’t handle myself with jerk-offs like him. I’m not gonna ask you to step in for me again any time soon, don’t worry.”

“Right. Of course! No, I know you’re perfectly capable of defending yourself.” He was doing it again, getting all awkward and distant for no reason, avoiding Angel’s eyes, his usual smooth attitude stuttering a little.

Angel Dust had never been much good at quiet contemplation or impulse control, so instead of keeping his concerns to himself and giving Alastor space, he asked directly, “What’s goin’ on with you?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Bullshit. Don’t act like you haven’t been lookin’ at me different since you got back from Val’s place.” Or maybe it was the kiss. “You act like you’re happy to see me, you start talkin’ to me like normal, then you clam up all of a sudden and run off. You were always a little weird, but you’re weirder lately, and I feel like it’s got somethin’ to do with me.”

It bothered him more than he wanted to admit to think that Alastor was mad at him or something. Despite his best efforts at resisting, Angel had developed a sort of attachment to him, weirdness and all. Maybe out of gratitude. Maybe something else. He already knew better than to expect Alastor would ever start feeling something similar about him, but he’d thought they were at least on some kind of friendly terms.

The Radio Demon was silent and still for just a moment too long, and Angel let out a frustrated sigh, throwing up his hands and starting past him toward the elevator—but Alastor caught his hand to stop him.

“If anything I’ve done has made you feel like you’re in the wrong, I’m sorry,” he said plainly. “I’ve been keeping my distance while I decided how to talk to you about this. And, obviously, I haven’t had any luck. Now might be as good a time as any.”

“For what? What d’you want to talk about?”

After a moment’s hesitation, Alastor seemed to realize he was still holding Angel’s hand and released it. “I’d rather have the conversation in private, if you don’t mind. We could use one of the conference rooms or—”

“Isn’t your room closer?” Angel asked, raising his eyebrows, and Al’s throat constricted with a reflexive gulp.

“Yes. That’s also fine. If you like.” He turned on his heel to lead the way down the hall to room 313, then held the door open and gestured for Angel to go ahead. The room was surprisingly minimalist, not reflecting the beaucoups of personality that showed every time Alastor opened his mouth. But that was better than the hellish horrors some other Overlords might decorate with.

“So what’s the deal?” Angel’s instinct was to seat himself on the bed, but he resisted it, not wanting Alastor to think he was being pushy.

“The question seems simple enough, doesn’t it? Yet as hard as I’ve tried, I can’t seem to answer it as clearly or eloquently as I’d like. That’s part of the reason I haven’t mentioned it to you; I felt there was no point bringing it up until I actually had something to say.”

“Funny. Most times, it’s a lot harder to make you stop talkin’.”

“Believe me, I know exactly how unusual this is,” Alastor sighed, releasing his staff and letting it vanish, “which is most likely why it’s been so difficult for me to form it into a complete, polished statement.”

“Give it to me messy, then.” Seeing how rigid Alastor had gone, Angel winced and tried again. Sometimes his mouth just formed innuendos without any effort on his part. “I’m sayin’ I don’t need it to be super-organized and flawless. Just tell me what you’re thinkin’.”

The Radio Demon took a deep breath and, without looking anywhere near Angel, confessed, “I want…you. That’s the clearest way I can think to say it.” He wrinkled his nose and shook his head, obviously frustrated with how inelegant the words were. But they were enough to hold Angel’s attention regardless.

“Oh.” He was about to ask Alastor to elaborate but quickly realized that was the part he was having trouble with. So he asked a different question. “When’d that start?”

“Roughly twenty-four seconds after you kissed me,” Alastor said matter-of-factly.

“After? So that’s not why you helped me with Val?”

“No. I don’t think so, at least. And I didn’t want you thinking so, either. But then—” He choked out a laugh. “I don’t have a definitive answer for why I did that, either, so maybe I’m fooling myself. It’s hard to say.”

“Well, if you can’t tell me what ya want, it’ll be awful hard for me to give it to ya.”

Red eyes lingered on Angel’s lips, and Alastor wet his own. “But you’re willing to agree, just like that? Without even knowing what I’m asking for?”

“Al, I’m gonna be totally honest with you,” Angel said, drawing closer and bending down a little to meet his gaze. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a little bit of a freak. I figured I was wastin’ my time, thinkin’ about gettin’ with you—”

“You’ve been thinking about that, have you?”

“—but I’m pretty sure whatever you wanna do with my body, I’ll enjoy it,” he went on, draping his arms over Alastor’s shoulders, not missing the shiver that went through the Overlord’s body. “I trust you.”

Those were apparently the magic words; Alastor’s eyes widened, and he dragged Angel into a firm kiss. And he participated much more actively this time! He slid one hand into Angel’s hair to draw him downward, forcing his posture to bend, but he was too absorbed in the experience to be bothered.

It all seemed to happen much slower than he expected. Alastor’s tongue traced his lips, stealing his breath, then slipped inside, everything soft and wet and warm. Even as Angel pressed in closer, arms tightening around Alastor’s shoulders and waist, Al refused to let him take things any faster. It seemed like he was intent on exploring every inch of Angel’s mouth in his own time, and—God—his tongue was longer than expected. When Alastor moaned into his mouth, Angel’s heart practically stopped, and he forced himself to break away for a breath.

“Fuck,” he muttered, hanging off Al for stability.

“That’s a nice sound, cher,” the Radio Demon purred, allowing his free arm to wrap around Angel’s slender waist and hold him close. “I wonder what it would take to hear more of it.”

“Uh. My voice?” Angel asked, embarrassed at how turned on he’d gotten from just one kiss (albeit a very deep, very thorough kiss).

“That’s right. I know for sure that I want that. The question is how to go about getting it.” Using the grip in his hair, he turned Angel toward him for another kiss, one every bit as hot and intense as the first, and Angel found himself moaning softly with every breath from having his mouth full. How ironic that someone so indifferent about sex could excite him with hardly any effort. But after so long doing without, every little bit of pleasurable friction made him eager for more. If this is his first time, is he feeling all that too?

“H-hang on,” he whimpered, reluctantly pushing Alastor away so he could catch a breath. “You probably can’t hear me really well if my mouth’s covered.”

“Fair point.” Al grabbed his wrist and dragged him over to the bed, then pushed him forward to kneel on the mattress. Stepping in close behind him, Alastor wrapped both arms around his waist, chest pressed to Angel’s back. With Angel on his knees, Alastor’s mouth was at just the right level to meet his neck, lips and tongue and teeth teasing to send hot shivers down his spine.

“That’s…nice, baby,” Angel sighed, and he could feel Alastor tense up behind him. “What? Somethin’ wrong?”

“I don’t care to be called that,” the Radio Demon said plainly. “Try again, cher.”

“Oh. Well, what d’ya like, then?” Angel was struggling to focus on talking as Al easily unbuttoned his jacket and stripped it off him to toss it to the floor. So much for shyness! He knew some part of what he wanted, clearly.

“Surprise me,” Alastor chuckled. “Something unique. Something you wouldn’t use for anyone else.”

“Okay. How ‘bout, uh, dear?” That one was a lot more wholesome than he was used to.

Al laughed against his skin. “Yes, that seems appropriate.” His hands drifted down to unbutton Angel’s shorts, drawing a breathless moan from his lips.

“Alastor…”

“Simple, but I’m surprised at how much I enjoy hearing it.” As he talked, casual as could be, he slid his hand down the front of Angel’s shorts to tease a desperate whine from his lips.

“Y-y’know, you’re makin’ this…kinda hard for me, honey,” he moaned, cheeks flushing with heat. There was another term he didn’t use often. It always felt too sweet, too familiar to call a stranger. But of course, Alastor didn’t fall into that category anymore.

“Oh, I like that very much, cher,” he purred, his hand meeting Angel’s bare skin without any sense of reservation or discomfort. Angel whined and writhed, embarrassed at how hard he’d gotten already but not trying to escape.

“Hang on. Lemme…do somethin’ for you too.” He tried reaching back with his free hands to grope between Alastor’s legs—but the Radio Demon moved away before he could.

“That’s not necessary.” The shadows in the room came to life and bound Angel’s wrists in front of him so he couldn’t reach. With a snap of Alastor’s fingers, the room went utterly pitch black, forcing Angel to feel everything else even more. It seemed unfair that with hardly any experience, he was still doing everything just right. “If you want to please me, speak to me, moan for me—sing for me if you like. I can promise no one else will hear. And I intend to keep it that way.”

So there was a little possessiveness in him somewhere. Not that Angel minded. Even if it wasn’t the same kind of sex he was used to having, he was still 100% engaged and eager to do whatever he could to make it good for his partner too. He moaned wantonly, trying and failing to keep his hips still, dropping his head back against Alastor’s shoulder just to be closer to him. The Radio Demon chuckled at his enthusiasm and nibbled along his neck, sharp teeth deliciously dangerous against soft skin.

“Harder,” Angel whispered, and he obliged without hesitation, biting down hard enough that Angel was sure he would have a bruise—but he still wasn’t satisfied. “I said harder, honey.”

Alastor hummed his approval and sank his teeth viciously into Angel’s neck, the force enough to buckle his knees. Good thing he was kneeling already. Al made a point of lapping up whatever blood he’d spilled, even gathering a few stray drops with his fingers and licking it off. Meaning that when his hand slid between Angel’s legs again, it was slick and wet, enough to pull a shocked cry of pleasure from his lips.

“I didn’t…I really didn’t expect you to be this good,” he laughed shakily.

“No? What did you expect?” Alastor’s other hand slid up the curve of his waist and into the thick fur of his chest to banish any space between them. “I’m curious, chéri: what have you been imagining?”

“Well. I figured you’d be kinda…forceful like this,” Angel answered, trying to distract himself from the slow strokes on his heated flesh, the way Alastor’s fingertips seemed to be mapping out every curve of his body. So calm, so thorough, and shockingly effective. “But, uh…I dunno, maybe a little clumsy? So much for that.” It was also surprising him how difficult holding a conversation was; normally guys weren’t interested in talking to him, especially in bed.

“Why bother doing a thing if you aren’t going to do it well, that’s what I always say.” Alastor took his hand away, and Angel almost whined, almost begged him to keep going—but his breath caught as something else curled around his erection, something slender and flexible like a… Like a shadow tentacle, he realized. Holy shit. The Radio Demon was apparently kinkier than he let on, but Angel could hardly complain when it all felt so good.

As his body was burning up and he was really losing track of his breath, he rested his head back against Alastor’s shoulder and turned to murmur into his ear. “Will you, uh, kiss me again?”

“Hmm. You like having your mouth full that much?” Al teased, and a shiver of hot embarrassment (and something else) rushed through Angel’s stomach.

“Well, I”—he swallowed hard—“I like when it’s your tongue.”

Alastor let out a low groan and held him even tighter. “Whatever you need, chéri.” One of his hands found its way into Angel’s hair again, and this time his kiss was brutal, bruising, urgent. Perfect. But he was no slouch at multitasking, his shadow magic just as precise and attentive as his hand was, and all this friction between Angel’s legs and lips was driving him out of his mind.

Remembering what Al had said about wanting to hear him, he didn’t bother stifling his moans, not for a second, his pitch and volume rising every moment that Alastor toyed with him. Fuck, it’s so hot. I can’t handle it! I… He could hardly even keep his own thoughts straight, too lost in feeling every single second of this, getting closer and closer until his willpower finally broke and he came with a breathy scream. His instinct was to pull away to catch his breath, but Alastor kept him trapped, apparently content to swallow every deep, desperate whimper that slipped out of his lips as he rode out his orgasm.

Eventually, after several more seconds of enjoying his mouth, Alastor drew away and let him gasp for air but still refused to allow any space between them. He even nuzzled his lips slowly against Angel’s neck, and a different, totally non-sexual warmth flooded through him. “That…that was… Uh, wow,” he laughed, and Alastor snickered along with him.

“Good to know my ‘weirdness about sex’ didn’t ruin it for you.”

“No way. It was better,” Angel told him without thinking. “Maybe just cuz it was you.”

“Ahem!” He could imagine Alastor’s bashful smile, which was very slightly different from his nervous smile or his apprehensive one.

“So?” Angel shifted carefully to sit up, tugging at the bonds still holding his wrists. “You gonna let me spend the night or…?”

“Let you? I would be bothered if you didn’t. Besides.” With another snap of Alastor’s fingers, a lamp in the corner glowed to life, casting soft red light across the room. Shouldn’t that be creepy? Unnerving? Angel felt totally comfortable. “I think you’d find it difficult to get upstairs in your state.” To illustrate, he pushed Angel forward lightly, and he easily collapsed against the bed, shaky now that he was no longer being supported.

“Twist my arm, why don’t ya,” he answered, wriggling out of his shorts and kicking them, along with his boots, to the floor.

“Oh, is that something else you enjoy? I’ll keep it in mind.” After stripping out of his coat and hanging it in the closet, Alastor unfastened his cuffs and unbuttoned his shirt a little, then came to crawl into bed still mostly dressed. Angel decided not to question it; if that was how he was comfortable, then fine. When he noticed Angel’s shaking wasn’t stopping, he tilted his head to one side and asked, “Is something wrong?”

“No, no.” Angel tried to still himself, hoping not to ruin the mood after everything had gone so well. “I’m fine. Just…tryna calm down.” That was a pretty intense session, after all, so his body and mind were still a little overwhelmed.

“I see.” Moving slightly closer without touching him, Alastor instead asked, “Would you like to be near me while you do so?”

His reflexive and honest answer was yes, please—but he hesitated to speak it, not wanting to come off clingy or weak. “I mean, you don’t hafta do that. If you gimme a couple minutes, I’ll—”

“You aren’t answering my question, cher,” Alastor pointed out, very carefully brushing his thumb over Angel’s cheek. Even that tiny bit of gentle affection was a huge comfort after so much intensity. Angel’s resistance quickly broke.

“Yeah. I would.” He wriggled a little closer under the covers to put himself in Alastor’s arms, and the Radio Demon held him without question, stroking his hair and humming to him softly while he slowly relaxed. So weird. So different. But different in a way Angel could definitely see himself getting used to. “You better be careful, honey. Keep bein’ this nice to me and I might start gettin’ confused about what you actually want here.”

“That would make two of us,” Alastor answered quietly. But he didn’t back away, didn’t get uncomfortable, didn’t kick Angel out of his bed. He didn’t make any effort to insist that this was just about sex (since it obviously wasn’t) or that Angel shouldn’t get his hopes up for anything more. Which was a good thing, because as he leaned down for another kiss—slow and soft this time—Angel’s hopes were rising higher and higher all the time. How long had it been since he’d felt hopeful about anything? He wasn’t even sure what he expected to happen, but damn it: he’d forgotten how good it felt to believe in something. 

#RadioDust #Hazbin Angel Dust #Hazbin Alastor #look I have a lot of feelings okay #One Good Turn #Radio Dust #Angel x Alastor

[littlestarofthewest]

Title: Meeting Miss Morgan | Word Count: 3255 | Rating (for entire fic): 18+!!!

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x female OC | Chapter: 05 of 08 |  Link to Masterlist

Julie is standing hidden around the corner of the barn, sneaking glances at Arthur. For the last four weeks, they've been dancing around each other, back to the way they were right in the beginning. Julie tries her best to give Arthur space, not wanting to pressure him, but she still doesn't understand what happened. 

After all that Arthur has done for her, she believed that he liked her back, especially since he was the one to initiate the kiss. For the first time, Julie wished that Mrs. Henderson wasn't there. Who knows what would have happened if she didn't interrupt them.

Despite Julie's efforts to forget about the whole thing, she can't forget how it felt to kiss Arthur, and all she wants to do is walk over to him and do it again. Every smile and kind word still makes her knees go weak. She's never felt this way for a man, and it doesn't seem fair that she can't be with him.

Throwing the promise to give Arthur space into the wind, Julie walks over to him. He's bringing fresh hay bales from the wagon into the barn, and Julie uses it as her excuse to spend some time with him.

"Arthur," she says, making him jump, and he taps his hat.

"Jules."

"You need any help?"

Arthur watches her with a raised brow. "If I say no, you gonna ignore me anyway, won't you?"

"Yes," Julie chirps, crawling up on the wagon. "It's just so much easier with two people."

"Go on then," Arthur says, and Julie's stomach does a little flip. 

The last few weeks, Arthur did his best to avoid her. She feels like they might be back on a better path if he so readily accepts her help without trying to run away at the first chance.

She grabs one of the bales and hands it down to Arthur, fetching the next one while he keeps stacking them next to the barn. It's exhausting work if you do it for a while, but Julie wouldn't bail for nothing. 

After a while, she can't help but quietly sing to herself and catches Arthur humming along. It reminds her of them cleaning out the stables together before the storm, content, and at peace. Somehow she feels like that is what Arthur came to them for. She never managed to get more information about his past, but she's still never seen a common farmhand who shows up to a new place of work with guns strapped to their hips.

When the wagon is empty, they carry the hay inside, and Julie takes every chance to brush along Arthur's arm when they pass by each other on their way back and forth. For once, Arthur doesn't shy away from her. Julie is so caught up in their little dance that she completely overlooks one of her biggest fears.

As Julie reaches for one of the hay bales, something black comes into her point of view, something that has no business being on the golden straws of the hay. A thick, hairy spider. She can't help the scream escaping her, and Arthur drops what he's carrying to rush over to her.

"What is it?" he asks, looking around to find the source of her distress.

"There," she says with disgust, pointing at the spider, unable to resist the urge to take a step behind Arthur to hide from it.

"What? The spider?" Arthur asks with confusion.

Julie knows that her reaction is way over the top, but she can't help herself. "I know it's stupid, but I just really hate them."

Arthur grabs the straws the spider is sitting on, making sure that she clings to them before flinging it out of the nearby window. Julie claws her hands into his shirt at his sudden movement, burying her face against his back.

"It's gone, don't worry," Arthur says in his calmest voice, almost as if Julie is a spooked horse.

"Sorry," Julie says, letting go of Arthur's shirt although she wouldn't mind staying right there.

Arthur shrugs. "It's alright. I've seen enough fair ladies in my time who lost their composure around some tiny spiders."

Julie is about to give him an earful when she sees the smile tucking at his lips, and instead, she hits his arm. "That's not funny."

"I have something that will help you," Arthur says. 

He turns around and reaches for Julie's shoulder as if picking something up from it. Then, he lets his fingers crawl down her arm like a spider. The sudden light touch makes her scream again as she jumps away from Arthur. 

"Arthur!" Julie shouts, hitting his arm again. "You scared me to death."

She waits for an apology, but instead, Arthur laughs, a deep, heartfelt laugh that makes him bend over and brings tears to his eyes. Julie can't help but stare at him. She's never even heard him laugh, let alone like this.

"I'm glad I can amuse you," Julie grunts, trying to sound angry, but seeing Arthur like this makes her heart sing.

I'm sorry," he says and takes a deep breath while wiping his eyes. Suppressing another chuckle, he looks at Julie. "The opportunity was just too good."

Julie flings a few straws of hay at him before turning around and climbing up the ladder to the loft. "Stop fooling around and let's get this work done."

"Yes, Miss Morgan," Arthur says, his voice still amused.

They work together to get some of the hay upstairs, and Julie uses every chance she gets to shower Arthur with the straws. He looks up at her with a grunt but doesn't say anything, so Julie keeps teasing him, waiting for a reaction. 

After a while, Arthur comes up to Julie into the loft and brushes the hay off himself - right onto her. While rearranging the hay bales, they keep throwing straws at each other until Julie dumps two handfuls on Arthur's head when he bends over.

"Alright, that's it," Arthur growls, and before Julie can get out of his reach, he already picks her up.

"Arthur, no," she squeals although she's not sure what he's about to do.

Julie tries to push away and kicks with her legs, but there's not much she can do against Arthur's grip. He carries her to a big haystack in the corner and dumps her right into it.

"Can you behave now?" Arthur asks, and as an answer, Julie pushes her leg against his, throwing him off balance.

Arthur stumbles forward and falls into the hay right next to Julie. She laughs at his astonished face, and he tries to sit back up. "Now, that's not funny."

Julie's not quite sure where the impulse is coming from, but she leans over to push Arthur right back into the hay. It's just meant as a joke, but Arthur holds on to her arms as he falls back and she gets pulled on top of him. Julie's hands come to rest on Arthur's chest, and they're suddenly so close that all she can look at are Arthur's eyes.

They stare at each other in surprise, and Julie feels her heart beating faster. It's just like the moment before their first kiss, and Julie wants Arthur to know that he did nothing wrong.

"I didn't mind the kiss," she says, and can't help that her eyes flicker briefly to Arthur's lips.

"Jules," he starts as if he wants to escape, but then he keeps looking at her, his hands still holding her in place on top of him.

Julie feels his warmth where their bodies are pressed together, and she leans in closer, wanting for Arthur to know how she feels about him. "I didn't mind it at all. I liked it."

They're only a few inches apart now, and suddenly Arthur lets go off Julie's arm to bury his hand in her hair and pull her into a kiss. There's an urgency behind it as if Arthur has waited too long for this, and Julie kisses him back with the same ferocity. Her fingers claw into his shirt, and when Arthur's hand moves from her arm to her back, Julie knows that a kiss won't be enough for her this time.

She puts a hand on Arthur's face, satisfying her curiosity about how his beard would feel before running her fingers down his neck and in between the open buttons of his shirt. Arthur makes a muffled sound against her lips, and Julie opens the buttons, caressing his skin.

This time, it's not just an accident, but Julie takes her time, wanting Arthur to feel her touch. While she studies his body, Arthur seems to melt into the hay under them, and Julie kisses along his jaw and further down, exploring his body with both lips and hands.

Once in a while, Arthur's breath hitches or rushes out of him, and being the reason for that brings heat to Julie's body. She moves back up, claiming Arthur's lips with another kiss while pressing her body against his.

Arthur returns the favor and opens the buttons on Julie's shirt so carefully as if he has to unwrap something especially delicate. Butterflies take flight in Julie's stomach as Arthur's eyes fall on her exposed body. He studies her as if he's admiring a piece of art, giving her goosebumps as he caresses her breasts with a featherlight touch.

Julie kisses Arthur again, and they roll to the side, clinging to each other until Arthur runs his hands down along Julie's side. She moves her hips under his touch, steering him to the front of her pants. He opens the buttons, and Julie turns on her back to let Arthur undress her completely.

Arthur slides his hands up along Julie's legs to her hips before he bends over to kiss her stomach. She wiggles under him, eager for more than these chaste offerings of affection. Looking at her, a small smile plays around Arthur's lips.

"I guess you would mind if I drew you now," he says, and Julie laughs.

"Right now, I'd rather have you do other things," she says, pulling Arthur in for another kiss.

"Is that so?" he asks after Julie gives him free, amusement in his voice. "Tell me more."

Arthur kisses along Julie's neck and farther down, making it impossible for her to say anything at all. She's too occupied by the sensations in her body. Arthur might not draw her, but he caresses Julie's curves as if he has to form her anew out of clay. 

A familiar heat settles in Julie's core, getting worse and worse as soon as Arthur's hand finds its way between her thighs. He keeps teasing her with his fingers while he takes turns sucking her nipples into his mouth, and Julie can't help but rub herself against his hand, eager for more.

Her hands find their way to Arthur's pants, and when she opens the buttons, Arthur stops everything to look at her. "You sure you want this, darling?"

Julie can't remember a man ever asking her that, especially not in the heat of the moment. That the man who took forever to use her first name suddenly calls her "darling" doesn't help either. It's so endearing that her heart seems like it wants to explode in her chest. She can trust that Arthur will be careful with her, so Julie grabs his shoulders to push him over.

"I want you," she says, pulling Arthur's pants down his legs.

He keeps still, letting Julie decide what to do next. She straddles his hips and kisses him again, feeling his hot lengths pressing against her. It's so good that she can't wait any longer. Julie reaches down to stroke Arthur's cock. His head falls back, and he moans, his hands holding on to Julie's hips as she brings him in position.

Julie takes her time sitting down on Arthur. She lets herself adjust to his girth before sinking down, taking him inch by delicious inch until he's fully sheeted inside of her, Arthur's fingers digging into her skin. He's panting, and when Julie leans over him, he puts his arms around her, holding her close.

They melt into each other, and Julie can't stop kissing Arthur while she rolls her hips. He welcomes her movements with little thrusts of his own, but there's no urgency behind it. Julie takes her time to feel Arthur as deeply as she can, and he lets her take her pleasure, slowly falling apart under her.

Arthur has always been guarded somehow, drawn into himself. Now, Julie can see him unravel. He moans and gasps with her movements, letting her kiss and bite his neck. When Arthur looks at her, it's open and honest, an offering to let her see him, too.

With Arthur's hands roaming her body, Julie moves her hips with more urgency. She presses herself close to Arthur, and he pushes himself up against her. There's so much friction that Julie can barely take it anymore. She pushes herself up to get more leverage, and Arthur leans in to tease her breasts.

Even more stimulated like this, Julie moans desperately, no longer able to wait. Her body moves in one fluid motion, and she only lets Arthur slip away from her so she can feel him even deeper when she takes him in again.

"Jesus, darling, you're killing me," Arthur groans, his voice rough and out of breath.

Julie's arousal skyrockets, all the sensations too much. "Arthur," she pleads although she's not quite sure for what.

Arthur draws her in for a sloppy kiss, both of them moaning and gasping for breath. Then he reaches down, his fingers digging into the flesh of her ass as he holds her in place. With quick deep thrusts, Arthur throws Julie over the edge. She cries out as her body tenses, her orgasm erupting between her legs and running in warm waves all over her body.

Falling against Arthur, all Julie can do is breathe, her mind in a state of bliss. She can feel Arthur's hands caressing her skin with slow motions.

"You alright?" he asks, and Julie rubs her face against his neck like a cat.

"Mhm," she sighs, and Arthur chuckles.

The vibration reminds Julie that Arthur's buried inside of her, still very much aroused. She carefully gets off him, nestling herself against his side before running her hand down between his legs.

"Darling, you don't have to-" Arthur begins, but as soon as Julie touches him, his body tenses. "Goddammit."

"How's that?" Julie asks, stroking Arthur's length, and he moans in response.

Reaching for Julie, Arthur buries his hand in her hair and keeps kissing her while his hips buck, eager to get more friction against her hand. She doesn't have to tease Arthur for long. His moans get more desperate with every up and down of Julie's hand until he leans back with closed eyes, his whole body going rigid as he comes.

Arthur takes a few deep breaths before pulling Julie close and kissing her forehead. "Remind me to always ask you for help from now on."

Julie chuckles. "Help with your work?"

"Sure, with my work," Arthur says, a playful twinkle in his eyes as he looks at her.

Julie feels a jolt in her stomach, and she begins to think that they might stay in the barn for a little longer.

---------

Julie can barely sit still in her chair during dinner. Ever since their little fun time in the hay, she's been sneaking out at night to visit Arthur at his cabin. They spend a lot of time in bed, but sometimes they both draw or sit outside and watch the night sky. Arthur still hasn't told her much about his past, but sometimes he mentions someone he knew, or they talk about books and music. 

Right now, Julie isn't that interested in talking, though. Running an errand for Mr. Henderson, Arthur's been gone for almost a week. In the last weeks, Julie's gotten so used to spending the nights with Arthur or sharing a quick kiss or hug at the stables that she's starved for his touch.

After dinner, Mr. Henderson and Arthur walk outside, talking about some work they want to do tomorrow, while Julie helps Mrs. Henderson with cleaning up. She can't quite concentrate, already in Arthur's cabin in her mind until Mrs. Henderson snaps her fingers right in front of her face.

"Oh, dear," she says. "You really have it bad, don't you? I bet you can't wait to get back to that cabin."

Julie stares at her, knowing that she's blushing, but still trying to act innocent. "I'm sorry?"

Mrs. Henderson takes her hand, her expression full of fondness. "It's none of our business, and you don't have to tell me anything, but William and I know about you visiting Arthur."

"Oh," Julie says, not quite sure what else to bring up in her defense. She's just glad that Mrs. Henderson called it "visiting" instead of something closer to the truth.

'Look, I know you don't need our approval, but we both like Arthur, and you surely could have done a lot worse. I'm just glad you found someone you like."

"Thank you," Julie says, still a little befuddled.

"Now, what I actually meant to say was that you don't have to hide or sneak out," Mrs. Henderson says before clapping Julie's hand and finally letting her go. "And now you better get out of here and go to your man. If I didn't know about you already, I surely could have guessed what's up with the way he kept looking at you the whole evening."

Heat shoots through Julie's chest. She didn't think they were that obvious. "But the dishes, shouldn't I-"

Mrs. Henderson lifts her hand to interrupt her. "Not tonight, dear. You go."

Usually, Julie would have protested, but the idea of seeing Arthur a lot sooner is intriguing. She wishes Mrs. Henderson a good night and heads outside. On the porch, Mr. Henderson is deep in conversation with Arthur, but as soon as he spots Julie, he interrupts himself.

"You know what? It's late, we can talk about this tomorrow. Good night, Arthur."

He claps Arthur on the back and smiles at Julie before quickly heading inside. Arthur looks after him with a clear question on his face. "That was odd."

Julie walks over to him and puts her hands on his chest, drawing him in by tucking on his shirt. "I missed you."

"Jules?" Arthur asks with alarm in his voice, his eyes shifting to the door where Mr. Henderson just disappeared. 

"Don't worry, they know."

Arthur's brows knit together. He seems even more confused about Mr. Henderson just leaving him here with Julie.

"What?" she asks, amusement in her voice. "Do you want him to chase you off the farm with a shotgun?"

"Something like that," Arthur admits.

"Martha told me they like you," Julie says to reassure Arthur. "That means we don't have to sneak around anymore."

Looking down at Julie's hands on his chest, Arthur raises a brow at Julie. "And you're planning on doing what?"

"Just kiss me already," Julie sighs, and Arthur finally bends over to touch his lips to hers. She takes his hand then and tucks at him. "Let's go."

Hand in hand, they walk through the night to Arthur's cabin, and Julie wonders if she could be any happier.

#my writing #nsft

[caiminnent]

shadow play [shaundes, rated T]

Prompt: surrender (1/25) [metaphorically speaking]

Summary: A discussion about tattoos and permanence that gets sidetracked in the best possible way.

Fandom: Assassin’s Creed

Tags: Friends with Benefits to Lovers, Relationship Discussions, Mutual Pining, Tattoos

Note: Also written and posted as an entry for @denydesmondsdeathday​, which I seem to have forgotten to tag. #justCaithings

2.4K || Also on AO3.

He likes to touch Desmond’s tattoos in the dark.

It’s not an accomplishment, per se—he is far from the first person to learn the topography of Desmond’s marked skin, won’t be the last—but there’s still an odd pride to it, being able to trace the black lines spanning across his shoulder blades, swirling up his arm without having to see them. Sometimes he imagines he can feel the texture of the art, the shadows and the sharp edges—that he could map out Desmond’s entire upper body with just his fingertips.

Desmond releases a long sigh, hugging his pillow closer, the movement drawing his shoulders tighter in. Whatever has been on his mind, keeping him up, he won’t say—and Shaun can’t ask, no matter how tempted he is. Especially because of how tempted he is. He’s already risking things by letting himself linger, not quite ready to draw the night to a close; he can’t afford another indulgence.

Running a finger down a long line from the back of Desmond’s shoulder, carefully avoiding where it tickles, “How did you end up with tattoos?” he asks instead. He might not be able to give Desmond some peace of mind, but he can offer distraction. That one he’s good for.

Desmond makes an amused grunt. “Thought you’d never ask,” he says with half a mouth, muffled against the pillow. Another drawn-out sigh and he’s slowly pushing himself up on his hands, stretching out his back like a cat. Putting on a show, almost.

He hardly minds.

Desmond settles back on an elbow, mirroring Shaun, barely more than an outline against all the white. He doesn’t speak again, though; the air growing heavy with something Shaun can’t identify but dislikes all the same as Desmond stares at the patch of sheet between them, his expression blurred back into the dimness of the room with the distance.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he offers, heart at his feet. Leave it to him to find the one topic that would make Desmond uncomfortable. Congratulations, really. Very well done.

Desmond shakes his head. “No, no, it’s not that.” He shifts again, this time to reach over the gap and lay a hand down, right next to Shaun’s on the sheet. “Keep touching? Please?”

As if he could deny Desmond anything.

He drags a finger up his wrist, forearm, sliding over that twist of ink over the muscle he can always find so easily. The lines aren’t as sharp here, the angles not as precise. Were they drawn in a hurry? Did Desmond move too much, filled with restless energy or twitching at each bite of the needle?

“I got this one first,” Desmond starts, as Shaun traces one of the longer lines, twirling at the end. “On my nineteenth birthday. I was supposed to work that night, but the boss—bless her heart—she put some money in my pocket and sent me on my way, told me to go have fun with my friends.” He huffs out a little chuckle, entirely joyless. “Only, I didn’t have friends. Didn’t have anyone I could celebrate with, didn’t have anywhere to go except my shithole of an apartment—which I really didn’t wanna go back to. So, I took to wandering.”

It’s easy enough to imagine: Desmond in his teens, walking up a storm on the streets of New York with his hands deep in his pockets, lips curled into that scowl that really only comes out when he thinks no one’s there to see.

His stomach churns.

“Then you saw a tattoo shop,” he guesses, following the same path up.

“Then I saw a tattoo shop,” Desmond confirms. Pauses, before adding, “I know it’s not... tasteful, or anything, but—it was mine, y’know? Something I’d picked for myself that no one could ever take away from me. It was... I dunno.” Shrugs a shoulder. “It was big, at the time.”

He understands the feeling.

In theory, at least. The wish for something bold and tangible and his, a middle finger to anyone who sneered and snickered at him for being who he is and wanting what he wants—that he understands. Getting it etched onto his skin for everyone to judge, however? That takes a kind of impulsiveness he only wishes for in secret.

What would that be like, even? Doing things without twisting yourself into knots? Deciding that you want something and just—getting it?

Desmond brushes the back of a finger underneath his wrist, oddly reassuring. “Is that the good kind of silence?”

If only he knew. “It’s not the bad kind,” is all he can allow. “It sounds... terrifying, is all.”

“Terrifying?” Desmond repeats on a low laugh.

“I mean...” He waves a hand vaguely, racking his brain to find the right words. “It’s a tattoo,” he settles on at last—rather lamely, he might add. His way with words never stepped outside of a classroom door, much less inside a bedroom. “It’s permanent—or as close to it as it gets, I suppose. It’ll be there long after us—after you, even—and you decided to get one on a whim. I don’t think I could ever be so…”

“Reckless?”

He rolls his eyes. “I was going to say spontaneous. Though, yes; that, too.”

That finger is still running back and forth, a teasing touch right under his pulse, starting to build something warm low in his belly. He wants to kiss Desmond. No secondary intent, not to get anywhere; kissing only to enjoy the feeling, Desmond’s warmth against his—and maybe fall asleep in the same bed after, just once. Just to see what it would be like to wake up there, curled up around Desmond or Desmond curled up around him, nowhere to rush to or run away—

Well, if that’s not his cue to get the hell out of here before he makes a fool of himself.

Rolling onto his back, he reaches for the alarm clock on the nightstand and slides it over with his fingertips to squint at the numbers, just this side of careless—even he has his moments. Well past one in the morning; earlier than the weight settled onto his bones suggested, late enough to be his excuse.

“Looks like we’ll have to leave the story of the back piece to another day after all,” he says, putting it back down in favour of the light switch above—blinks, the sudden brightness stabbing at his brain.

“You’re leaving?” Desmond asks—oddly put off, by the sound of it. What else did he even expect?

Throwing the covers off himself, “I should if I want to get some sleep,” he points out, stepping out before he can change his mind. Before the temptation to stay under the covers becomes too great.

Glasses, phone, his bag over by the door, his coat on the rack—where the hell are his clothes?

“In the closet,” Desmond says before he can ask. “I put them away while you were in the shower.”

Huh. Since when does Desmond care about tidying up?

“Thanks,” he says anyway, heading over to the closet—where his shirt and trousers are carefully placed on hangers, the bottom two buttons of the shirt done up like he prefers, his sweater sitting neatly folded on the rack above.

Something not unlike foreboding twists in his gut.

See, he has never seen the point of not looking a gift horse in the mouth. Call it paranoia; he cannot receive something nice and not poke and prod at every opening until he’s sure it’s meant in kindness. He doesn’t like surprises, doesn’t like getting caught off-guard—he does not like not being able to read Desmond’s expression as Desmond watches him through the full-length mirror, sitting up against the headboard with the covers pooled in his lap.

He needs to get out—fast.

Turning away from the mirror, he puts his focus entirely on dressing out of Desmond’s clothes into his own, buttoning up his shirt like he’s being timed on it. The very air is tense with anticipation—for what, he can’t tell, nor does he want to find out. For once, he doesn’t.

“So, after us, huh?” Desmond says—apropos of nothing, for all that he sounds as if continuing an interrupted conversation.

It takes Shaun longer than he would like to admit, to figure out what the hell Desmond’s talking about. “What of it?”

“That really what you think?” Desmond asks, serious like he never is. The feeling in his gut intensifies. “That this—” Gestures at the room as a whole, the open space between them. “—is temporary?”

Bitter laughter bubbles up in his chest. He pushes it down before it can escape, the pressure making it difficult to breathe. Is this what you think, Desmond asks—like what he thinks matters. Like what he thinks changes any damn thing here. It must be a joke, right. It must be a joke, because Desmond can’t be bloody serious.

If it is a joke, though, it’s a very cruel one.

Suddenly self-conscious with words like us hanging over their heads, he turns away from Desmond and the mirror both, back to the closet. “More lovers than you could keep track of,” he lists as he shoves his legs into his trousers, no trace of the resentment gathering and thickening in his chest making it to his tone, thankfully. “Not knowing how to do the ‘domestic stuff’. I’ve never learned how to stay still. I can read between the lines, Desmond.”

“I’m not denying what I said,” Desmond says—dares to sound upset, as if Shaun is being the difficult one here.

Cinching his belt, he reaches for his sweater. “Then we’ve got nothing to talk about.”

Behind him, the bed groans as Desmond steps out of it. He can’t help tensing at the slow approach, Desmond’s footsteps too loud in the still of the night.

Desmond touches Shaun’s arm, hardly more than a caress.  “I think we do, Shaun.”

He panics.

There’s no other word for the fist that grips his heart and throat both, his hand tightening instinctively around the fabric of his sweater. God, of course. Of course he’s already fucked up, given himself away—how could he have not? He’s transparent, obvious, subtle as a brick to the face and Desmond—

Desmond’s too gentle to let him down any other way.

“Shaun?” Desmond urges softly, his hand a light pressure on Shaun’s arm—not a weight but an anchor, grounding. “Look at me, please?”

He doesn’t want to. Doesn’t want to face Desmond, doesn’t know what his face will do if he does. If this is the end, he’d much rather leave with at least some of his pride intact.

Nonetheless, he turns.

Desmond’s watching him with open wariness, as if Shaun is a bloody caged animal, something to tread carefully with—the door a mere three steps behind Desmond. He could leave. Desmond wouldn’t follow if he did, just walked past him out of the room, the house. Avoided Bad Weather and anywhere else they could potentially come across, left this all behind.

He couldn’t, though; he knows he couldn’t even as he’s thinking it. He’s too greedy not to latch onto this—too needy to let it go.

“Look, it’s fine,” he sighs before Desmond can get a word in, running a hand through his wild hair. “You didn’t sign your life away by kissing me first; that’s not how this works. We don’t have to be more than—whatever the hell we are now.”

“But you want to be?”

Christ, Desmond can be worse than a bloodhound on a trail sometimes. “What does it even matter? I’ve already said I’m not going to tie you down. It’s fine.” Nothing has to change. Just leave it.

The slow smile that spreads over Desmond’s face is a rare kind, small but no less bright for it. He brushes tentative fingers over Shaun’s lips—Shaun’s breath stutters against them, his heart seizing. “What if I don’t want it to be fine?”

Oh.

Perhaps he’s been a bigger idiot than even he thought.

Desmond slowly slides his hands down onto Shaun’s chest, thumbing the top button. “I know what I said before,” he murmurs, meeting his gaze briefly, as if for permission, before he undoes it. The next one. The next. “You have every reason not to put faith in me. But—things have changed. For me. In here.” He rests a hand on Shaun’s chest, sizzling on the naked skin and there’s no way, no way, that he can’t feel the stupid beat of Shaun’s heart under his palm, hard and rabbit-fast— “Is it bold of me to hope they did for you, too?”

He can’t breathe.

He should be happy. Hell, he should be ecstatic, dizzy with joy instead of the wet, cold fear latched onto his insides, rooting his feet to the spot. It’s not usual for him, is the thing. To get what he wants. This—it can’t be—nothing is ever so easy. These things always come with a catch, some sort of a trap—consequences he can’t always foresee. He’s not like Desmond; he can’t just leap into things.

Desmond’s smile is dimmed with the hesitation creeping back into his eyes, his hand pausing over the last button above his waistband—and Shaun did that, right, with his paranoia. His useless anxiety.

Must he talk himself out of every good thing?

Swallowing against the burn up his throat, he lays a hand over Desmond’s; not an apology, not quite, but the closest thing to one he can give. “Do you even know what you’re offering?” he asks, matching Desmond’s tone. Do you even know what you’re getting yourself into?

“Not really,” Desmond admits on a quick, breathy laugh. “Think we can find out together?”

He’s not ready for the jolt that passes through his heart, nor the weight in his chest that he’s not quite ready to name—too light to be what it was, too deep to be anything else. Insufferable and exhilarating at the same time. Too familiar.

Sucking in his bottom lip, Desmond meets his eyes again—it’s the same everything cluttering up his insides reflected back in them; the hesitation, the uncertainty. The fear. “You don’t have to say it. I don’t need pretty words or promises. Just—” The last button, undone—leaving him bared. “Stay.”

“Okay,” he whispers—and isn't that an admission. “Okay.”

#Bad Things Happen Bingo #DenyDesmond'sDeathDay #shaundes #Desmond Miles #Shaun Hastings #Assassin's Creed #Cai does words #shadow play #finished fics #I've done my best to format this properly and put the most under a cut #but Tumblr is Tumblr #so apologies beforehand if it causes any inconvenience

[frecklystars]

Keri sweetie I'm so confused, do you actually like Megatron? Is he one of your f/os? Sometimes you make posts where you like him and other times you hate on him so much. Are you tsundere, is this an act? Or are you genuniely struggling? Girl what ever it is, it's hilarious and I support you any decision you make 😂

THIS IS SO FUNNY HFDHDFHFDH AM I TSUNDERE???? Firstly thanks for your undying support and second I DON’T KNOW HOW I FEEL ABT HIM. I DON’T KNOWWWW I’VE LITERALLY NEVER HAD SO MANY COMPLICATIONS TRYING TO DETERMINE WHETHER A F/O IS ROMANTIC OR NOT BECAUSE HIM HAVING A CRUSH ON ME REALLY JUST STARTED AS A JOKE BUT NOW I GENUINELY LIKE THE IDEA....................

Normally when I self insert into a universe, I have most characters wrapped around my little finger, and in TFP I’m self shipping with basically all Autobots + Decepticons LMAO just for fun!! and I like the idea of Megatron noticing the Cons being favored by me, one by one, and he’s like “...why aren’t I getting all of this special attention ffs how can starscream the blithering fool get so much positive feedback when he’s done NOTHING productive and yet I have the world ready to be in the palm of my hand servo and she says NOTHING to me? unacceptable. time to flirt”

it takes a LONG ASS TIME to get to this point tho sdlfjsfd he legitimately does not give a shit about me at first we’re bitter enemies, but maybe by the middle of season 2 he’s intrigued by me and wants to get to know me better and wants to date me too, since he’d see me around the ship very often! and he’ll make me trinkets out of crystals (well. the vehicons will make them. he doesn’t lift a finger lmao) and he takes time out of his busy day to say hello to me and ask how i’m doing and he even makes me a lil tiara + gives me flowers... honestly the past few months I’ve been trying to exaggerate just how much of a crush he has on me, because its just. so. hilarious. the idea of the Big Baddie responsible for a whatever-million-year war... having a little schoolgirl crush on an ordinary human being... and for said human to return everyone’s affections EXCEPT his... and it drives him NUTS... is the funniest freaking thing to me and I really love playing around with the idea. most of this is just for fun!... until I start daydreaming about him kissing me and me kissing back.......

basically the “he worships me at my feet and i yawn and tell him he needs to try harder” trope LOL... but in the process of writing/drawing all of this, i’ve actually started...liking... the idea of... actually returning his affections... and having scenes that are like “no wait. this is wrong. he’s the WORST he’s the BAD GUY and I shouldn’t DO THIS” and he goes “nobody has to know about this. one kiss. one little kiss. if you don’t like it i won’t ask for another” but of COURSE i’ll like it wtf this mans has sharp teeth and i’m weak for those... and there’s this epic moment maybe a few weeks or months into the relationship (if you can even call it that) where he messes up and betrays me *unintentionally!* and I’m like “I KNEW IT. I KNEW I COULDN’T TRUST YOU. I CAN’T BELIEVE I FELL FOR YOU-” and he’s so confused and angry he doesn’t really know how to handle how complicated he feels so he just... gets even more harsh and impulsive and throws himself into his work because he doesn’t know what to do otherwise and his beatings toward starscream get even more brutal bc of his pent up rage which makes me even more upset towards him and he genuinely has no idea what he’s supposed to do at this point so he’s a devastated mess

I haven’t thought that much about an official story yet since this whole thing started out as a joke... i didn’t expect to get this far... i never expected to actually get feelings for him......... but you can bet that my final episode’s final scene with him is... absolutely tragic and heartbreaking

#so.. tl;dr: i like the concept of him liking me. i think. but i genuinely have no idea #anonymous #asks #i-it's not like i like him or anything!!! b-b-baka!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! #also its 2am i didnt proofread this im sorry if its messy fdhdfhdhf #self insert asks

[whentommymetalfie]

“Trust me. I’ve got you.”

----

A:N Summer time means more time for Art Stuff, so here’s another installment of my 1000-follower celebration. The wonderful fic is by @weeo -thank you for sending me this lovely thing. The fic, along with some additional notes can also be read here. I put a ‘read more’ link in this, because the post was getting so long! Also pls click for high-res action on the art

Weeo: Aesthetic inspirations : The film The Shape Of Water and Harry Potter and the Goblet of fire (Second task in the Black Lake). Musical inspirations : A winged victory for the Sullen - A Symphony Pathetique, Steep Hills of Vicotin Tears and All Farewells are sudden

—

Today, the night is restful. Alfie is paddling in the water, occasionally diving into the shallows of the Black Lake, but mostly calmly floating, ears underwater, listening to the peaceful silence. The lake is tiny, but instantly deep when you set a foot inside. There are dark trees all around it, lengthened by thin branches.

After Alfie has resurfaced from one of his multiple dives, he shouts joyfully :

“Come on Tommy. Come with me. Don’t stay all alone on the shore !”

Tommy is smoking, seated on the small pier, an arm around one of his leg. He’s only wearing a partly unbuttoned shirt and his underwear. His other foot dangles in fresh water and wiggles slightly. He’s looking away, toward the starry sky. When Alfie breaks him out of his reverie, he turns his head, but keeps a wistful expression, his mouth still half-opened. He firstly raises an eyebrow. Within a few seconds, he shatters the silence, which was beautified by the lapping on the shore, with his usual cold voice : “You’re alone too.”

Alfie smiles faintly and starts floating on his back. “You’re dull, mate. It’s just so refreshing to swim. Just come enjoy the delightful pleasures of life, Earth offers us, before the devil remembers where we fucking belong !”

“No. I’m fine here.”, Tommy protests, “I don’t wanna be soaked.” He takes a long drag on his cigarette.

“Aw, our little precious boy don’t wanna catch a cold, innit.”, Alfie mocks, “Then, just come a few minutes and get out quickly if you’re freezing. I won’t judge ya for your softness, Tommy.”

Tommy sighs, while rolling his eyes. “Alfie”, he drawls, “I drank too much, I would drown.”

Unconvinced, Alfie swims silently to get closer to Tommy. When he reaches the shore, he leans on the bank. Tommy hasn’t taken his eyes off him all the way. Alfie waves his hand in the air. “Come here on the grass. I wanna show you something.”.

Sceptical, Tommy lifts his eyebrows : “To throw me into the water, I’m not fucking stupid.”.

“I won’t. I swear.” Alfie promised, with a sincere, but concerned look at his lover. Tommy throws his cigarette and slowly stands up. He looks quite irritated. He walks barefoot on the grass, without looking to his direction and sits cross-legged next to Alfie on the bank.

“I just wanna make you listen to something”, Alfie points vigorously at Tommy’s forehead, “that will soothe your tiny head from all that booze you drank, mate. Just take off that pretty shirt of yours.”.

Offended, Tommy objects : “Fucking hell… Are you being serious right now ?”

Alfie gets closer to Tommy and strokes his thigh, as an act of reassurance.

“Yeah, just do it, I promised I won’t throw you into the water. But I don’t get why you’re so upset. You’re looking like a little vampiric cat who’s afraid of being touched by holy water. Don’t be that wary, I won’t force you into anything, love”

Tommy’s face pauses for some seconds and softens slowly. He then hesitantly starts by undoing the first button of his shirt. He looks down toward Alfie, who encourages him with a nod, and unbuttons it completely, before taking it off.

“You’ll have to lay down.” Still partially immersed in the water, Alfie guides Tommy with his hands. “with your head next to me. Yeah, just like that”, Alfie whispers so softly. Tommy is laid down on his back, head on the bank, next to the water and Alfie.

“I know a mad jewish doctor, Tommy, who can heal the damages in your little head.”. Alfie brushes his knuckles on his lover’s temples and subsequently makes his fingers travel on the sharp cheekbones and jawline. Tommy closes his eyes and melts into Alfie’s touches. “Lucky you are today”, says Alfie, “he’s just next to ya.”. Tommy smiles faintly, lifting the corner of his mouth. Alfie gently draws little circles, with his thumb, on Tommy’s cheek.

“It’s way more effective if your body is totally underwater, but since I’m a real magician of the modern medicine…”.

Tommy’s voice is slightly breaking, when he cuts Alfie in the middle of his sentence, to murmur : “I would drown, I said.”. Still leaned on his elbow against the bank and brows confusedly furrow, Alfie doesn’t add anything on this seemingly sensitive case, that he purposely closes to keep up with his speech.

“Imagine Tommy, someone who always hear sounds, annoying, awful sounds, all the fucking time in his ears, and suddenly, he can hear the silence, yeah, a total absence of noises.”. Alfie puts an hand under Tommy’s head and drag him closer. “A jewish friend of mine told me, his head has been harmed in France, just like yours, Tommy. He’s now swimming at least 2 hours every day, because the tiredness helps him a bit to sleep, right, but mostly, for drowning his head underwater.”, he explains carefully. Tommy’s head is now placed just over the water, supported by Alfie’s hand. “Would you like to try too ?”, Alfie asks, to which Tommy answers with a simple “Fine”.

“So, welcome to the great, deep silence, mate.”, he announces. He then immerses half of Tommy’s head, slowly, to avoid frightening him. Only his face is over the water to allow him to breath.

Tommy doesn’t move for several seconds. His tensed features soften really slowly, to the point, that it’s nearly imperceptible. Alfie gazes at him, concern etched in his face. The usually reassuring lapping of the water seems suddenly to taunt him and his silly ideas.

“I wish I could bring back that calm home,” Tommy mutters with his husky voice, while smiling fondly. His words sound like a deep breath of fresh air to Alfie. Tommy doesn’t remove his head from the water and stay there for a moment, his eyes closed, without talking at all.

Alfie takes the opportunity of a deaf Tommy to voice what he guessed since some time : “You thought you fooled me, you silly boy. Nah, nah, nah. I know you’re too proud to just ask for help. How am I supposed to be your pillar, when you hide the rocks to build it, mate ? You can’t swim don’t ya ?”

Feeling his lover moving slightly, Tommy opens his eyes again on Alfie’s last sentence. He instantly lifts his head out of the water : “What were you saying? I couldn’t hear anything.”

“You can’t swim, can ya ?” questions Alfie directly.

Tommy’s pounding heart, which is threatening to explode in tiny pieces, feels suddenly trapped in his chest. His mouth only partially opens, but there is no a sound that can leave it. Sweat begins to appear on his whole body and he’s unable to look Alfie in the eye.

Alfie brings Tommy’s head to his shoulder, to embrace him. He strokes his lover’s hair, as an attempt to comfort him and whispers in his ear : “Eh, Tommy, nothing to worry about, I’ll teach ya and you won’t even be able remember, that you couldn’t at some point”.

Alfie can feel Tommy’s steady breath against his chest. “You usually like to bathe in the little river next to the house. You don’t join me, cause you really don’t want to or cause you can’t ?” Tommy stays silent, ignoring Alfie’s question, although he’s still clinging to him.

“Got it. Do you trust me ?”

Tommy briefly nods against Alfie’s shoulder.

“Eh, look at me.”

Tommy loosens his embrace and meet Alfie’s eyes with difficulties.

“I’ve got you,Tommy. You can follow me.”, he says with a little smile.

Alfie starts to slowly move away of the shore, holding one of Tommy’s hand.

“Trust me. I’ve got you.”

On an impulse, Tommy throws himself unexpectedly into the lake, gripping Alfie’s hand. Alfie looks at Tommy, when they are underwater, admiring his cute way to sink horizontally, eyes tightly closed. He catches the second hand of his lover, then grasps both of his forearms to bring him closer and leaves a loving kiss on his lips.

———

I’ve nothing more to say, so have a nice day !

----

@justanothershelby -since you asked me to tag you! :) <3

#alfie x tommy #Tommy Shelby #Alfie Solomons #the tommy/alfie art escapade #my art #digital art #not my fic