#and will scarlet is getting real good at playing distraction

[dindjarindiaries]

What Sits in the Silence

summary: Your bounty-hunting rival turns to you in his time of need and brings along more baggage than you planned on handling.

pairing: din djarin (the mandalorian) x reader

includes: enemies to lovers, injuries, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff

rating: T

word count: 4.469k

main masterlist • din djarin masterlist

Stay in one place for too long and a new threat will be just around the corner. No one has to be a hunter for long to figure that out. Yet this past job’s given you no such regard for the unspoken golden rule. The jungles of the treacherous planet that you trekked through for at least two days and nights on your latest job left you hungering for warmth and comfort the hull of your ship isn’t well-known for. That had only made the inn that sits on the outskirts of the planet’s urban sector even more alluring.

The warm, artificial fire radiating from the room’s small hearth has already swept a wave of peace through you. Luxury is costly for any hunter, especially those who wish to stay under the radar, but this is a pretty damn good deal. It’s another job done, more credits in your pocket, and a night of rest to recharge for the next one. The only thing you need to keep quiet is your own mind, something you’ve already been doing for many years in this troubled galaxy.

Then, there’s three solid knocks on the door.

You tense and turn your head over your shoulder. Your hand’s already on your blaster as your survival instincts go to work, any sense of peace now lost just as swiftly as it was gained. A true threat wouldn’t have knocked; no, their presence would’ve wanted to go unnoticed. But more than one threat, a team with one looking to distract and the other to attack. . . it could be more than likely. So much for a relaxing night.

Three more knocks. You stand up from the chair in front of the hearth and thank the stars when it makes no sound. Your blaster is lifted in the ready position as you make your way to the door, not so much fearful as anticipatory. Once you’re in front of the door, you take a deep breath and finalize the plan within your mind. You’ve done this plenty of times before.

But when you open the door, it’s not a threat that awaits you. It’s a nuisance.

“Mando?” You huff and lower your blaster. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Your rival sways on his feet for a moment and catches himself with one hand on the open threshold. Mando attempts to stand up straighter and instead releases a terse sound of pain, something between a grunt and a growl. You give him a once-over and notice his other gloved hand grasping his side, a deep scarlet now painting his orange fingertips. He shakes his helmet, weary. “I . . . didn’t know where else to go.”

You holster your blaster, the idea of a threat now vanished. With so many questions running through your mind, only one can make it to the surface. “What happened to you?”

Mando tightens his fist on the threshold. He tilts his helmet and attempts a chuckle. “Long story.”

You sigh and look around before you gesture with your head to the room behind you. “I’ve got time.”

Mando waits for you to step aside before he stumbles into the room. You secure the door closed and guide him to the chair in front of the hearth. He all but collapses into it, thanking you between a few heavy breaths of pain.

“I would say this is another scheme of yours to slow me down,” you say while you retrieve your medpac from your overnight bag, “but the blood looks pretty real.”

Mando holds his wound with both hands and looks down at it. “It feels pretty real.”

You kneel beside the chair and help him get to work. “How’d you even find me?”

“We’re hunters.” Mando remains unfazed as he removes his cuirass. “I know you’ve found a way to track me down before.” His visor finds your gaze. “Let’s not play coy.”

You hold back a snarl when your face starts to burn hot. “Do you want me to help you, or do you want me to kick your ass? Because that’s what you deserve for disturbing my peace.”

Mando huffs and continues to remove his armor. You take each piece and set it aside on the floor. “I’m sorry for . . .” a grunt of pain as he starts to free his arms from his flight suit, “intruding on your evening.”

Your anger attempts to outweigh your observation of the Mandalorian hunter’s scarred skin with your rebuttal. “The least you owe me is an explanation.” Mando gets the top half of his flight suit lowered to his waist and, in doing so, exposes the fiery-red wound in his side. “I thought you were somewhat decent at your job.”

“This wasn’t work related.” Mando’s all business as the two of you exchange medical supplies to tend to his wound, as if he isn’t appearing the most human he ever has in front of you. You set your jaw in irritation. “It was a personal matter.”

You raise an eyebrow. “One that happened to be exactly where I am?”

Mando exhales and shifts in the chair, reaching for something on his belt. He lifts his gloved hand and reveals a cauterizer.

Before he can go on, you grab his wrist and stop him. Mando tilts his helmet as you scoff. “You’re gonna cauterize it? Are you insane?”

Mando gestures to the plethora of both long and small scars on his upper half. “That’s what I’ve always done. It’s fast and effective.”

“Well, I’m not letting you do that.” Your free hand takes a hold of your bacta spray. “You’re gonna make the whole room smell like burnt flesh.”

You let Mando’s wrist go. He holds his hand closer to himself, his grasp on the cauterizer fidgeting. “I’ve never used that before.” His helmet nods towards the bacta spray.

“I’ll take care of it.” You lift the spray and point at the cauterizer. “Just put that thing away.” Mando obeys, setting the cauterizer back on his belt and gripping his armored thighs with his blood-stained gloves. You adjust your grip on the bacta and sigh. “Now, tell me this ‘long story’ of yours.”

Mando wastes no time complying with your order. “I was finishing my last job when I got into a run-in with another hunter. I’ve seen him at Karga’s before, but I—.”

Mando stops himself when you start to spray his wound. He growls in pain and grasps your wrist before uttering a tight-lipped curse.

“Shit.” All it takes is a moment for him to recover and retract his hand. “Sorry.” He takes a deep breath while you finish with the spray and start to bandage the wound. “I . . . don’t know the name. He insisted he was there to recruit me for some side-job to remove some of the competition.”

You stop your work, your fingers lingering on Mando’s bandage as you process his words. “What competition?”

��I got here as fast as I could, once I realized where they were headed.”

You frown and pull your hands back towards yourself. Your body starts to lean away from Mando’s. “So, this is a setup.”

“No.” Mando’s response comes out quick and almost breathless. He sits up and raises both his hands towards you in surrender, wincing as the motion tugs at his wound.  “No. I got to them first.” One of his hands gestures to his bandage. “There were more than I expected.”

Your heart somersaults in your chest before it soars into your throat. “You . . . fought them all? By yourself?” Mando nods, dutiful. Your brow furrows. “Why?”

Mando offers a shrug. “You don’t become the best in the parsec by killing your competition.”

The pang of disappointment his words bring is foreign. You circle your jaw in a lame attempt to dismiss it. “I have to give it to you, Mando.” You start to clean the rest of the area around his bandaged wound. “You’ve always been honorable.”

Mando’s visor falls to his gloved hands, which have since started fumbling with each other. His voice is quiet when he speaks. “This is the Way.”

“So, was it the free medical supplies that brought you here?” You set down the cleaning supplies and exchange them for a final layer of gauze. Your hand gives it a shake before you apply it.

Mando’s fingers freeze, the muscles on his upper half tensing. “What do you mean?”

“You said you didn’t know where else to go when you got here.” Your fingertips circle the bandaged area on his side. “You just knew you needed to get this fixed up, and I was nearby.” You give him a nod and put the medpac back together. “Right?”

“No.”

You stop what you’re doing, turning your head towards Mando. His hands knead his thighs and his visor looks away from you.

“I… wanted to make sure you were okay.” His helmet turns back to you and nods. “In case I missed one of them.”

You part your lips, dumbfounded. “Oh.” You look at the medpac and blink a few times in succession. “Well,” a half-hearted chuckle, “smart thinking. I owe you a favor, now.”

“Not really.” Mando waves a hand over his bandages. “Looks like there was some truth to your medical supplies idea.”

You scoff and raise your brow. “Yeah. You saved my life and I sprayed you with some bacta.” You pick up the medpac and stand on your feet. “Sounds like a fair trade-off to me.”

Mando continues his argument even as you walk away from him. “Bacta’s hard to come by these days.”

“You been to a marketplace recently, Mando?” You exchange the medpac for your canteen before you make your way over to him again. “You can find bacta practically anywhere.” You hold the canteen out for him to take.

Mando’s gloved hand rises slowly to accept your offer. His voice is low when he responds. “Only with Imperial credits.”

You turn your head to give him the necessary privacy to drink. “Credits are credits.” You cross your arms and flutter your fingers in curiosity. “You got something against Imperials?”

Silence sits between the two of you for a long moment. The water swishing against the canteen is the only sound as Mando takes a drink. “Personal preference.” He takes a deep breath, grunting as the motion tugs on his healing wound. “Thanks for the drink.”

You turn back to face him and take the canteen from his hand. “Sure,” you nod.

Mando struggles to slide his upper half back into his flight suit. “Well, I’m going to head back to my ship.” He stops for a moment to glance at you. “I still owe you one.”

Your eyes widen at him in disbelief. “You’re going right now?”

Mando slows his actions in confusion. “Why wouldn’t I?”

You release a mirthless chuckle. “Because it’s nighttime on an unknown planet and you have a gash on your side.” Before Mando can argue, you gesture to the site of his wound. “You’ve already gotten your ass kicked once today.”

Mando stops and tilts his helmet. “Your concern is touching, truly.” Your face starts to burn despite the sarcasm that drips from his words. “But I’ll be fine.”

You set your hands on your hips with an annoyed sigh. “You looked ready to pass out in my doorway, Mando.” Your gaze falls from his visor as you go on. “Plus, I . . . never got to repay you for Madurs.” Mando’s helmet straightens at that. You inhale to gain the faith to go on. “So, please, just humor me this one time.”

Mando’s chest rises and falls in careful consideration. “Fine.” He piles up his armor more neatly on the floor. “I never thought you’d be this nice to me.” He huffs to himself. “Or anyone, for that matter.”

You head back towards the bed. “Don’t get used to it.” You distract yourself by setting your weapons on the bedside shelf closest to you. “This is a one-time thing.”

Mando stands and half-walks, half-limps over to you. “Aren’t I lucky?” He stops and gestures to a blanket that’s folded on the edge of the bed. “Can I use this?”

You lift a quizzical brow. “For what?”

Mando points at the open floor behind him. “For resting.”

“You’re not sleeping on the floor with a gash on your side.”

Mando shifts his weight to one leg, his helmet tilting. “You’re actually worried about me.”

You look away from him and shrug. “‘You don’t become the best in the parsec by killing your competition.’ That’s what you said, isn’t it?”

Mando sighs, tightening his gloved hands into fists before he nods. “All right.” He gestures to the bed. “That means . . .”

“We’re adults.” You circle your jaw with an amused raise of your brow. “We can handle it.” You give him an unimpressed once-over. “At least, I know I can.”

Mando scoffs and walks around the other side of the bed. He sits on the edge of it and pauses, the back of his helmet facing you as he speaks. “Despite what your motives might be, I’m . . . very grateful for your help.” He turns his helmet over his shoulder. “Thank you. Truly.”

You nod at him and ignore the warmth that spreads like wildfire throughout you. “Don’t worry about it, Mando.” You deactivate the artificial fire with the device on your bedside shelf and turn off the light at your side.

Mando does the same alongside you. As he’s about to turn off his light, he pauses, his hesitation clear in the breath that hitches in his throat. His voice is low when he speaks. “It’s Din.”

You move your head on your pillow to look at him with bewilderment. His visor doesn’t meet your gaze, instead continuing to study the light his gloved hand is just inches away from touching.

“Din Djarin.”

There’s nothing you hate more than the way your heart’s started to race at his words. You offer a simple nod and quietly clear your throat before you turn on your side away from him. “Well . . . don't worry about it, Din.” He turns off the light and you screw your eyes shut. “Goodnight.”

Din’s response comes after a long pause, his tone only partially sardonic. “Sweet dreams.”

You have to hold back a scoff at his words. Dreams are a far fetch for your mind that’s now working overtime, despite the tempting darkness of the room and the comfort of the bed that’s certainly more luxurious than the rack on your ship. You’re aware of how dangerously close your rival is.

He hasn’t been that close since Madurs. You both had tracked a quarry to the ice moon, but once the storm had hit, the bounty didn’t matter. You were much too far from the main city and the only thing the two of you could do was hide inside a cave. The cold was so intense that you were teetering on the edge of consciousness for what felt like hours, and despite the fact his armor was completely frozen over, Din had held you close for whatever warmth he could provide.

The feeling of his touch still lingers, many standard months later.

It burns as much now as it had back then. Din had even gone to the lengths of half-carrying you back to your ship and making sure it was started up for you. It would’ve been so easy for him to leave you on your own to fend for yourself. But despite your rivalry, despite all the bickering, the injuries, the violence . . . Din had been there for you in your greatest time of need. And here he is at your side, having saved your life once again in a way that almost risked his own.

You exhale and flip onto your back. Of course it had to be him. You almost wish it was someone you could’ve taken out with your blaster instead. Then, you could’ve enjoyed the warmth of this room, and the comfort of the bed, and the peacefulness of being still and secure . . .

“You can’t sleep.” Din’s voice nearly makes you jump as you instead turn your head on your pillow to look at him. You strain your eyes to make out the edges of his helmet.

You huff. “Neither can you.”

Din shrugs, the motion visible. “I have a gash on my side. What’s your excuse?”

You take a deep breath and consider your response. If you don’t get the truth out, you’ll never be able to sleep, and you’ll be damned if you let him take a night of comfort away from you. “Madurs.”

Din’s helmet moves on his own pillow so that his visor’s now facing you. You don’t have to see it to feel the heat of his gaze. His voice is low and cautious. “We vowed to never speak of that again.”

“I heard what you called me that day.” You’re crossing into dangerous territory and you could care less. Freeing yourself from this torment is all you can focus on. “It wasn’t Basic. It was Mando’a. Cyar’ika.”

Din sits up on one of his elbows, grunting at the movement. “You don’t know Mando’a.”

You smile with amusement at his defensiveness. “You’re right, I don’t.” Your expression remains smug as you sit up and fold your hands in your lap. “So, I looked it up.”

Din freezes, his entire body going still. You don’t need a light source to notice that. His muscles are so tense you can sense it upon the material of the bed.

“You knew I wouldn’t understand it, yet you still said it. That means you meant it.”

Din continues to remain where he is. He doesn’t make so much as a single sound. Your chest flares with frustration at his silence and your amused smirk turns into a sour grimace.

“That’s why I hate you.” Your tongue becomes a flaming blade as you go on, freeing the fire from within you. “I hate you because you’re so damn hard to push away. I hate that you’re kind, and honorable, and selfless, and . . . stars, I hate that I could go on and on. I absolutely hate the fact that I was so worried when you showed up, and I . . .” you compose yourself with a shallow breath, “I hate that I can’t stop thinking about what might happen to you when you leave here by yourself.”

Din finally starts to move, his hands pushing himself just a bit closer to you.

“And now, you’ve told me your name—have you told that to anyone?—and you almost gave your life for mine, and . . . I hate you for that.” You look up at the ceiling and curse underneath your breath at the tears that threaten to blur your vision. “I hate you.”

Din’s now in easy reach, his helmet tilted at you. He remains silent.

“Of course, it had to be you.” You release a mirthless chuckle and shake your head. “It always had to be you.” You look at him and set your jaw. “I hate you for that.”

Every move Din makes is careful and cautious as he dares to lift a gloved hand toward you. You don’t flinch, instead remaining still as he brings his hand to your cheek and brushes away a tear that’s managed to escape. “Cyar’ika…”

“Don’t.” You grab his wrist and pull his hand away from your face, though you don’t release his hand. Instead, you hold it within your own, staring at it and circling your jaw. Your voice is much quieter than before. “I don’t want another person to lose.”

Din’s visor falls to your hands as he takes a deep breath. “I understand.” You lift your head and furrow your brow at him. His hand fidgets with your own before he goes on. “I’ve . . . lost many people in my life.” His modulated voice is strained in a way you’ve never heard before. “It’s easier to push people away now than it is to keep them close.”

You nod and run your thumb over the blue triangle on the back of his glove. “It is.”

Din hesitates, a breath catching in his throat. “What changed your mind?” You tilt your head, seeking clarity. “About me?” He waits a beat, and at your silence, he goes on. “Madurs?”

“It didn’t change my mind.” You swallow the lump in your throat and ignore the urge that screams at you to guard your heart. “It opened my eyes.”

Din’s visor meets your gaze with his helmet straightened in severity.

“You could’ve let me die there. It wouldn’t have been your fault. Instead, even after every vile thing I’ve ever said and done to you, you made sure I not only survived but also got away safely. I didn’t understand why at first.” You exhale and look away from him. “But, now . . .”

The two of you sit in the silence for a long moment. It’s suspended in time, a shared thought no one dares to speak on. Your hearts sit between your hands as vulnerable as ever, and you’re afraid that if you tighten your grip, you’ll risk a pain worse than any wound’s ever provided.

Din doesn’t let you go, but he gives you the choice.

“I can leave.” His words are uttered in a low tone of genuine care. “I can make it easy for you. I’d make sure you’d never have to see me again.”

The thought alone makes tears spring to your eyes again. You shake your head and tighten your jaw, cursing to yourself for letting emotions get the best of you.

“Or,” Din continues, adding another one of his hands on top of yours, “I . . . can hold you like I did on Madurs, and you can make your decision in the morning.”

You study him the best you can in the darkness of the room. The beskar barrier doesn’t hide the honesty that oozes in his every word and action. This isn’t the armored man you’ve shared banter with ever since you both started going head-to-head within the Nevarro Guild. No, this is the man that’s kept himself hidden underneath his armor, willingly peeling it away for only you to see. This is the man you’ve both tried to avoid and haven’t been able to stop thinking of ever since Madurs.

His armor was physically compromised once today on your behalf, and now, he’s doing the very same in an emotional way.

The choice is clear for you. You nod and separate your hand from his only to move closer to him, just as he’d done to you before. You ease yourself down on the pillows as Din mirrors the movement, though this time, you turn yourself towards him. With one gentle and cautious arm secured over your waist, Din lets you rest against his chest, a safe haven you didn’t know you needed until you close your eyes and drown in the very same warmth he’d provided all those months ago.

Needless to say, it’s the best rest you’ve had in a long, long time.

You wake in a different position. You’re faced away from Din, your back nestled against his chest and your hands entwined in front of you. You release a soft breath, content to keep yourself where you are for as long as you can.

But Din takes a hesitant breath of his own and starts to lift his hand from yours.

You tighten your grasp on him and pull your entwined hands against your chest. The action draws you even closer to him, until you can feel the lip of his helmet tucking your head beneath his chin. As unfamiliar as this should be, it’s as fitting as the feeling of his hand entwined with your own. You use your thumb to brush his sleeve down and set your lips upon the skin of his wrist. Din inhales, though his exhale is as sweet as the gentle squeeze his hand gives your own.

When you finally speak, your voice is a delicate whisper. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. You weren’t supposed to do this to me.” Din tenses against you for a moment. “But, now?” You give your head an aimless shake. “Don’t let me lose another person.”

Din relaxes, aside from the additional squeeze he gives your hand. “I won’t. You have my word.”

You smile, a gesture that contains some of your usual smugness. “Good thing I actually trust your word, now.”

Din huffs, an amused sound that’s nearly a chuckle. “You’re not an easy one to convince. Though, I have to say . . .” he pauses and urges you to turn on your side so that you’re now facing him, “I love that you hate me.”

You try to hide the way your smile grows as you lift a hand to run along the curve in his beskar cheek. “And I hate that I love you.”

You earn a full chuckle from Din at that. He shrugs and sets his hand over yours. “Well, I despise that I love you.”

You roll your eyes and firmly set your hand on the side of his helmet. “Must you argue with me about everything?”

Din takes your hand from his helmet and entwines your fingers with his as he rests the metal against your forehead. “Who said we had to give up our rivalry?”

You shake your head and circle your jaw, despite the grin that’s still fighting to spread over your lips. “Maybe, just maybe, let me have this one.”

Din heaves a dramatic breath as he pulls your head underneath his chin, encouraging you to take the same position you had when you first fell asleep. His hand brushes a circle over your back before he nods decisively. “Sure.” His tone becomes thick with amusement. “Just don’t get used to it. This is a one-time thing.”

You audibly sigh. “Seriously?”

Din laughs, a sweet sound that makes a pleasurable shockwave of radiant joy bathe over you like warm sunlight. From the bone-chilling cold of Madurs to the pure warmth you’re immersed in now, Din’s been a constant reminder of the parts of life in this galaxy you never knew you wanted to enjoy. You’re more than content to argue with him over petty things if it means you can hear just one more smile in his voice with a certainty as secure as his hold on you now.

At least this is a luxury that doesn’t cost you a single thing, and that’s as good a deal as any hunter could ever get.

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[ilyrafe]

𝒓𝒆𝒅𝒂𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒚 ✧ 𝒄𝒉 𝑽𝑰𝑰 (reposted)

pairing: charles brandon x duchess!reader

warnings: angst, abusive behavior

word count: 2,7k

taglist: @runawayolives​​ @kmuir1​​ @marytudorbrandon​​ @lharrietg​​ @shittingdicknipple​ @alexa-fangirl-forever​​ @mis-lil-red​​ @amberangel112​ @ohmygoodie @itmejado​​ @radaofrivia​​ @scarlets-widow​​ @ragamuffin285​​ @thereisa8ella​​ @titty-teetee​ @dropletsofkaisoo​ @kebabgirl67​​

redamancy masterlist | main masterlist

a/n: hi hello i am a dumbass while deleting a few posts i accidentally deleted the original 7th chapter, but since i still had a google doc with the original story here i am reposting it !

the dry, golden leaves fall from the trees, decorating london’s streets and roads in the first days of september. the wind is cooler, but it is not able to prevent children from continuing to play in the streets of the villages where they live. the days are getting shorter, however, which may be good for some, but less so for others.

charles has been restless since the kiss. it feels like stepping on eggshells, and he hates it, but he knows he can’t pressure the duchess into anything. he still doesn’t know how to read her, so he can’t really tell where she is at, where she stands in relation to him. the duke can’t deny that he finds y/n a bit moody, but compared to king henry, charles knows how to handle her better than his friend and sovereign. there is still a barrier between them, but little by little, the bricks are being removed.

he’s hopeful, though. he’s putting a lot of effort into their relationship - whatever that may be. would he like to be in a romantic relationship with the duchess and live his married life properly? absolutely, but as he gets to know her better, he wouldn’t be upset if they end up being friends. either way, all he wants is to have her in his life.

the duchess remains in conflict with herself. as she documents her journey in her diary, she finds herself wondering if it’s worth putting charles through this, because she knows it’s unfair and that it’s clear he has feelings for her. it’s conflicting and distressing, because she knows she’s giving in little by little. she can’t say she still loves james, but also can’t say she doesn’t, as the memories are still fresh in her mind, and it was those memories that kept her sane during these months of marriage. her head is a mess, and she just wants to be able to breathe in peace, knowing that james will be bitter.

getting close to charles, even out of petulant interest, has been interesting. now they have all three meals together, they go out riding either early in the mornings or after dinner quite frequently, and she feels genuinely comfortable around him. admitting you’re in the wrong is never easy, and despite having apologized to him for being so harsh, she still feels a little guilty and indebted to him. the problem now is that she feels in doubt about her revenge, because she has involved a person who doesn’t deserve to be in the middle of something he has nothing to do with and she knows he’s harboring real feelings for her.

her eyesight is blurry and her eyes are heavy. the duchess stretches, closes her diary and blows out the candle on the table, that gently lightens the spot. the moonlight remains illuminating the room, and as she lies down on her bed, she closes her eyes, praying for strength to go on with the mess she herself created.

(...)

the day dawns just slightly cloudy, the sun decides to appear, although quite shyly..

in his bed, the duke takes a little while longer to get up. today is his birthday, and despite the day being his, it is perhaps the busiest day of the year, as the royal court, his subjects and his friends and family want his attention to congratulate him for another year of life. unlike other years, charles has decided not to celebrate with a party, as a war is imminent and he doesn’t want any more distractions.

after a long delay, charles is finally ready for the busy day ahead. does she know it’s my birthday? he laughs at himself as he finds himself thinking about her again.

when he arrives at the salon for breakfast, he finds the duchess promptly seated, waiting for him. with each passing day she gets more beautiful, and he doesn't know how that's possible. it’s as if she had an angelic aura around her that hypnotizes him. he’s completely head over heels.

“oh, good morning!” she smiles brightly.

“good morning, dear wife. i apologize for taking so long.”

“it’s no trouble.” she shrugs. “um… i hear it’s your birthday today.”

he chuckles as he pours honey into his fruit salad.

“yes, it is.”

“while i find it quite insulting that you didn’t tell me and i found out this morning, i wish you the best.” she says with a shy smile on her beautiful lips, the ones he prays he gets to kiss them again.

“thank you.”

“i assume a party will be held here…?”

“oh, no. not this year.” he explains. “i believe i’m too old for birthday parties,” he says humorously, and she chuckles. “it’s a waste of money and even if i were to host a party, certain people would have to come and we do not want that.”

“oh,” y/n recoils in shame. “i am utterly embarrassed about it.”

“no, please, don’t. my concern is about you, not me. i would never do anything to harm you.” he’s quick to assure her. he places his hand on hers and gives it a light squeeze. “um, i would like to celebrate my birthday, though.” he grins.

a pleasant smile appears in her face, and it’s enough to make his heart skip a beat. “how?”

“tonight, we’ll have dinner.”

“we have dinner every evening.” she chuckles to disguise her confusion.

“i know, but we’ll have a cake, and there’s no one else i’d rather celebrate today with.”

oh.

y/n is taken by surprise by his words. she had no idea her plan would work so quickly.

“alright. i’ll see you tonight, then.”

(...)

his anxiety for dinner makes him feel that time is deliberately passing slowly. as he expected, his day is full of commitments. lots of documents to sign, he has to send his men for training for the imminent war against france, and has to make time to receive gifts and messages from his friends.

on his desk, there is a small print of him with the duchess on their wedding day. charles is standing before the duchess who is sitting on a chair. both have serious expressions on their faces, and even though it’s a painting, he can see his wife’s sad semblant. she was stunning that day, though. her dress was beautiful. although he is glad they are getting along today, he would love for their wedding day to be a happy one. he acknowledges that he wasn’t much satisfied either, and he did expect a loveless marriage, but didn’t anticipate how turbulent the first months would be.

a knock on the door to his office takes him out of his thoughts.

“your grace, your majesty is here.” one guard announces and henry steps into charles’ office.

“my dear friend! i came here to congratulate you on another year of life!” the king exclaims.

“thank you, your majesty.”

“oh, stop that.” henry waves it off, making charles laugh. “what are your plans for today?”

“well, as you can imagine, i have a lot to do.”

“are you not celebrating your birthday?” the king inquiries.

“not this year.” charles sighs as he makes his way to his chair, behind his desk. “we need resources for the war, i don’t think it’s smart to waste it in a party that next year i’ll be celebrating anyways.”

“you speak as if your best friend isn’t the king of england, your grace.”

charles scoffs, quite amused by henry’s way of thinking. the king despises limits; the more, the better. there’s nothing he wouldn’t do to get what he wants. the war was provoked by him, and charles, being the army leader, has to take part in something he loathes, all because he couldn’t bear to lose henry’s love and admiration. not having any siblings alive, henry is the brother he never had.

“we’ll celebrate properly when we come victorious from this war.” charles promises.

“oh, i have no doubt our army is in good hands.” henry smiles. “just so you know, annika has left to sweden, but her husband james is staying. he is already in training and i’ve been told he is excellent. i’m glad he is on our side.”

“um… i’ll keep an eye on him. he’s never been to war before, we don’t want him to die on the field.” charles lies. “if he shows us a good performance, i’ll award him with something.”

“oh, you’re generous, my friend.”

after much research, there’s no way he could keep james out of the war. there is nothing he could say, the king seems to like him a lot. a parasite.

(...)

after a busy and chaotic day, charles finally gets ready for dinner with his wife. he chooses his best clothes and when he goes down to the dining room, he doesn’t find her there. in fact, the table isn’t even set.

“where is y/n?” he asks.

“she is in the garden awaiting for your grace.” a servant says, and her smile tells her that something good is ahead.

charles makes his way to the garden and finds y/n sitting on a smaller table. she looks beautiful as always, her soft blue dress is gorgeous, and her jewels shine when moonlight hits them, giving her a special aura. she’s properly dressed for a party, even though it’s just a simple dinner, but he loves it. the moon is shining bright, and although it is a bit cold, the weather is overall lovely. it’s all perfect.

“i thought you’d forgotten about this.” she laughs.

“i wouldn’t dare.”

they both sit across from each other and the servants begin to serve them. charles is enamored, and he knows he looks stupid.

“i am sorry you weren’t able to have an appropriate birthday celebration,” she laments. “i took the liberty of making a present for you, i hope it is to your liking.”

“what is it?”

charles feels like a boy again, his curiosity always taking over his mind. a servant returns to the table with a small cake in hand. he places it in the center of the table and the duke’s mouth waters. he loves desserts, especially cakes.

“i’ve heard you have a sweet tooth, and that you particularly adore chocolate nut cake, so i decided to bake you one. i hope you enjoy it.”

the duke breaks the little chocolate nut cake and the taste is divine. of all the chocolate nut cakes he’s ever eaten, this one is the best. the best of the best. she can’t help but let out a laugh when she sees the duke sighing and letting out a brief moan of pleasure as he delights himself with the dessert.

after enjoying the cake, both go for a walk through the immense countryside, accompanied by the moon and the glow of the stars. it is increasingly difficult for charles to keep his feelings to himself, and he senses that she may be feeling the same. the change in her behavior is sudden, but it’s a good change. she wouldn’t bake him his favorite cake if she didn’t like him in the slightest… would she?

“i must say, this was the best birthday i’ve had in years. a grand party couldn’t make me as happy.” he says with a grin.

“i am glad to hear that.”

he stops in the middle of the path and holds her hands. 

“and i must admit that i didn’t expect to fall in love with you so quickly.”

charles’ heart is in his mouth, because he doesn’t want to be rejected by her, but to his surprise, the duchess smiles. she looks a little shy, but he would dare say she seems happy to hear his confession.

y/n is surprised, as she  didn’t think he would admit his feelings so soon. her plan is working out too quickly, which can be worrying.

with the recognition that her goal is getting closer to being achieved, y/n approaches and presses her lips against his. charles wastes no time and matches her advance. her lips taste like wine, which makes him just a tad drunk. both of her hands are pressed against his chest, and even with so many layers of clothing, she can feel his heart pounding. knowing she has a special power over a man like him is tempting, she can’t abuse it.

continuing with the “girl repentant of her mistakes” guise can be tricky, but she got to the crucial part of her plan, and if she’s sincere, it wasn’t exactly difficult, it was just… morally devious.

somehow, y/n has internalized that there is nothing more she can lose. her anguish is so deep that she fails to recognize herself. her sadness and disappointment are so strong that they have left her numb, making her not feel the impact of her actions. although she is fully aware that her plan is petty and childish, it’s the only thing that keeps her alive, and it’s sad that her motivation for living is a deep hatred of both james and herself.

“please, give me a chance. i can make you happy.” he asks in a whisper as he leans his forehead against hers, rubbing the tip of his nose against hers, making her smile again.

for a brief moment she lets herself believe charles’ words. as true as they are, she knows they were only said because of her false intent. it hurts because she had heard those words before, and only suffering followed.

“yes.”

(...)

in her quarters, y/n reflects on the night she had. her head is beyond tormented.

already in her sleeping clothes, she goes to her bed, but a noise at the window disturbs her. as she opens the curtains, she finds james struggling to keep himself on the parapet outside. she needs to stifle a scream that almost escapes her lips. her body shudders, size is the scare she takes.

she opens the window and lets him in, seeing no other option. the man drains and is panting.

“what are you doing here? how did you get in here?” she whispers in desperation.

“i needed to see you, my love.” he gasps. “i missed you terribly.”

he tries to kiss her, but she steps back.

“i am not your love anymore.” she scores. “i thought i was clear enough when i said i do not want to see you ever again.”

“you know you love me, y/n.” james says with conviction, one that is appalling. “i will duel him if necessary to have you back.”

“you have lost your mind.” she scoffs.

james makes himself comfortable on a chair and takes in her room. her room alone is much bigger than the house he planned on acquiring.

“why did you marry a swedish duchess?” she asks.

“i needed to get to you.” he says. “i met annika and as soon as i learned that she was a royal, i made her fall in love with me. it was the only way i could get to you, and for you, i’ll do anything.”

his tone is frightening, only because he’s saying what she has been doing. realizing she’s not much different than him breaks her heart in tiny little pieces.

“does she know about us?”

“no, absolutely not.” he urges. “of course, she found it quite strange when you stormed out of the queen’s birthday party, but it was no trouble, i handled her.”

james’ eyes are troubled, and she’s never seen him like that. for the first time she’s scared of him, and she isn’t so sure if she is that safe around him.

“you are insane.” she says, more to herself than to him. “james, i mean it. we are no longer together. i don’t love you anymore.”

“you’re mistaken, my love.” james insists with a terrifying smile, as he approaches her figure. he holds her in his arms, but her body is frozen in fear. “i promise you. we will be together in the end, y/n. whether you like it or not, we’re meant to be together and you know it.”

“all i know is that i am your worst enemy now, james. not charles, not my father. me. cross my path again and you’ll see what i am capable of.”

outraged, james lets her go and leaves her room by the window, where he came from.

while the duke sleeps happily in his bed, the duchess is unable to shut down her mind for a few moments. now she fears for hers and charles’ safety.

#my writings #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill x you #henry cavill x reader #Charles Brandon #charles brandon fanfic #charles brandon x reader #charles brandon x you #the tudors

[anyaeras]

Distracted || W.Maximoff x reader

TW- fingering, oral, they/them pronouns but reader has a pussy. Strap on, Praise kink, mommy kink, implies age gap, softdom!wanda  sub!reader

SMUT WARNING 18+ recommend

A short smut shot for you guys, reader gets distracted so Wanda ‘punished’ or more so played with them.

Working as a shield agent was all fun and games, really it was until the young y/n was captured on a mission and was injected with some chemicals like a lab rat, now that’s when things started getting complicated.

From the day y/n had light telepathic abilities the basics really, moving things with your mind, reading people well but who could say if it was the end of your powers there could be more to come which is why they promoted you to being an avenger now living in the avenger compound with a few of worlds mightiest heroes isn’t just your little fantasy anymore, it’s real life! But that’s not all in your time here you definitely crew a connection with the famous Scarlet witch, Wanda Maximoff, god you loved her sometimes you couldn’t keep your eyes up off her during missions she’s punish you for being unsafe later but watching her in battle was all worth it, you take every bullet in the world for her, you were hooked. Back to the whole putting yourself in danger thing, that’s what got you in the situation you’re in right now…a Punishment

"Y/N malysh, come here quickly" Wanda said and you were quick to move right to her, knelling at her feet waiting for her to give you some direction.

“Sweet sweet y/n, I told you to be safe, and what did you do? You get yourself hurt, I don’t know if I’m flattered or disappointed that you just couldn’t look away from mommy to do one simple job, got anything to say for yourself?” Wanda now looking down at the smaller one at her face using the tips of her magic fingers to lift y/n’s chin making eye contact between the both of them.

“I’m sorry Wanda” was all y/n could push out staring deep into the older women’s eyes

“Tisk tisk Dorogoy that’s not my name silly” Wanda replied pulling y/n onto their feet making them now standing about as high to the witches chest

“Try again malysh” was all Wanda said not letting her stares lighten up

“M-mommy, I’m sorry” without another word from Wanda, y/n was pulled over to the bed being manhandled then laid back down.

Wanda waited a moment before stripping herself of her clothing moving closer to y/n almost standing above

“Strip.” Wanda said softly but when you didn’t reply she had a fake disappointed look on her face before grabbing your face harshly pulling you close, Wanda had to fight back her laugh when she watched your breath get caught in your throat

Once’s Wanda had let y/n free to strip of their clothing laying onto the bed

“Awww so obedient for me, mommy’s little play thing, laying here waiting for me to play with you so good for me” Wanda praised but with a mocking tone before her hands started to roam along your body enjoying how you wiggled beneath her desperate to be touched.

“ patients sweet one” was all Wanda said before shoving the large strap she wore around her center into y/n bottoming out easily with how wet they were beneath her.

“Greedy really but you take me so well” Wanda said between her teeth at y/n as she started to thrust her center into y/n’s going painfully slow but hitting hard. “Doing so well sweetie” Wanda praised

Y/n released a pornographic moan all from the smallest bit of attention

“I’ve barley touched you and you’re yelling already? I guess I’ll have to shut you up” Wanda pulled out causing y/n to whine but before it could go on for to long Wanda had placed a ball gag into your mouth.

“So much better for mommy, all quite at my will” Wanda laughed out before quickly flipping over y/n onto all fours lining up again grabbing y/n by the hair pulling them down onto her dick thrusting quickly not giving y/n anytime to adjusted taking it while letting out loud scream-ish moans

Wanda laughed as she watch her sweet little one take her whole, the way y/n’s eyes rolled to the back of their head it was pure bliss for wanda

“Aww ready to cum already” Wanda never once’s slowed down kept her quick pace watching as y/n nodded aggressively letting out un-audible words from around the gag

“Let go malysh, cum for mommy” Wanda said helping y/n ride out their orgasm with a loud scream before being harshly flipped over again

Watching y/n pant as Wanda took the ball gag out of their mouth whipping loose drool from around y/n mouth.

“Such a sweet play thing for me really taking me so well, glad we aren’t done yet” Wanda said smirking while with the flick of her wrist she used her magic to spread y/n legs and lay their arms flat on the bed. Wanda reached over to the end table grabbing a vibrator wand clicking it on then laying it onto y/n clit watching her squirm around under the touch

“Aww so sensitive are we” Wanda said but having no remorse slipping her ‘magic’ fingers into your core letting small zaps of her magic shoot inside you as you let out a high pitched moan in return.

Wanda kept going pushing hard with her fingers as the wand moved around your Clit she watched you hungrily ready to rip another climax from you. It didn’t take long at all when Wanda felt you tighten around her.

“Just let go baby” Wanda whispered into her ear and like that y/n let go and came hard, but Wanda didn’t lighten up keeping the wand on your clit which was so sensitive and magic jolting in you, it was all go much you were to sensitive

“M-mommy stop, to much” was all you could get out

“You can take it sweet one” Wanda reply.

She kept going forcing you into your final climax of the night, your vision blurring as you tried to come down from your high.

Wanda removed her hand from your center and with a flick of the wrist the magic faded letting you rest for a moment

“Good job, you did so well for mommy tonight, I’ll get a beth running sweetie stay here” was all she said to you before walking off, leaving you to fall into a sleep state for the night happy you pleased wanda.

#marvel #marvel mcu #lgbtqia #writing #lizzie x reader #mommy issues #fanfic #marvel fic #wanda multiverse of madness #wanda maximommy #wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #aftercare #smut #marvel smut

[lan-star]

I've been scrolling last night liking any Laserhawk post I thought was either wholesome, funny, generally nice, or was something I've seen around on Google or Pinterest already and I figured I'd share to my fellow members in the Laserhawk community one of my ocs for a fan project I currently have a prequel Q&A for (the project basically follows the show's plot but in my ocs' perspective as citizens mostly in the background) [FT. Some others for some context/mentions]

Her name is Rosea (I have yet to confirm ages for any of my ocs in the project but most of them are adults) she is a mushroom hybrid who was raised with her brother Robert with her aunt and uncle who work with a friend of hers at the diner (the one shown near the end of the show) she's a swordfighter (based on Scarlet from Brawlhalla even though I've never played the game so apologies to Brawlhalla fans if Rosea doesn't have any similar traits to Scarlet her design is based on multiple skins from the game that I looked up on Google)

I'll drop a link to my tiktok for the prequel Q&A but first some art I have of Rosea already

^

| Redraws of two Bullfrog Screencaps (+ a bonus version with Rosea blushing I kinda hated how I drew her mouth for the open mouth one although I was trying my hardest to get it to match it's respective screencap)

^

| More flustered Rosea doodles because I felt silly when I made these

^

| A frame from an animatic for the project (Robert [Rosea's brother], Rosea, and Billy Gruff [Another one of Rosea's friends] helping Rayman/Ramon rescue Bullfrog from the execution- the animatic was a joke about Billy Gruff's little buddy Pistachio- a tiny chipmunk distracting one of the Eden workers/guards and failing)

(For context this is Pistachio- I used a real photo of a chipmunk when making Pistachio on the spot for that animatic)

Getting back on track

A panel from the Q&A intro (spilt it into two parts, the first part already up and the second to be up when I get some asks to have the cast respond to)

|

v

"At least you have a love life unlike my sister here"- Robert

For context the first mentioned friend of Rosea and Robert is Sheila- a fish hybrid is distressed about how she's never had a long lasting relationship {all of the relationships she's had were short lasting and kinda crappy} meanwhile Rosea has never shown any interest in pursuing a relationship with anybody mainly out of focus for her swordfighting in case of an event where she would need to protect her friends and family (I don't have a good refrence in my artstyle to reveal Sheila yet but I do have a picrew refrence to share with you all)

[CREDIT TO RAWRAVERA ON PICREW]

Her design is inspired by Ariel from the Little Mermaid (The animated one from Disney not Live action also from Disney- but if I were to make a human design for her, her skin tone might be like the Live Action one) She's also a huge fan of Rayman's show and wants to have of show of her own one day, to start she decides to provide a sort of phone hotline service at the diner to provide entertainment for patrons who are there by having her and her friends respond to any questions or comments for whoever calls the hotline (thus the Q&A)

If you have tiktok and you would like to leave anything for the Q&A I'll drop the link here (if not you can leave any asks in the comments here and I'll share the responses on both here and my Tiktok)

I might also drop the animatic I shared some frames for in the future depending on if the Q&A for my fan project gets anywhere (yes the project is called Secrets Of Eden as mentioned in the Tiktok to save any confusion)

#captain laserhawk #laserhawk ocs #captain laserhawk oc #Secrets Of Eden

[cassmouse]

One More Moondance - Honkai Star Rail fanfic✨

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pairings: Bronseele! There's also some Natasha and Seele being major found family in there

summary: Bronya decides to throw a party in Belobog's old ballroom, so she teaches Seele to waltz (or at least tries to).

words: Just over 3k

part: This is part 1 out of 2!

author's note: Here we are with my second fanfic! This was an absolute JOY to write, and I hope you all enjoy reading it just as much <3 It's also posted on ao3 and you can find the link in the post before this! Any support or feedback is very much appreciated ✨

warning: Again, it's set after the Express crew leave Belobog, so there's spoilers for the Jarilo-VI storyline

----------------------------------------------------------

Bronya's heart still ached a little when she thought of Cocolia.

It was to be expected, really. Considering Cocolia was the person Bronya fully believed to be her birth mother for most of her life, the hole she left was palpable. It pained her to watch the dull shadows of her memory run wild around Qilpoth Fort. To tell the truth, they never stopped pushing themselves to the front of her mind. During meetings, she would swear she saw her mother sitting at the other end of the table for a moment. When she focused on paperwork, there was her mother approaching her. But it never was. It was just the guilt coming back to haunt her.

This pattern was no different when she entered Belobog's signature ballroom for the first time since... the incident. It hadn't been used in a long time, and she wasn't entirely sure if the room had even been cleaned. Sunlight streamed through the grand windows that were lining the wall in front of her, illuminating the hard floor like a magic spell, and again the memories flooded back to her, as clear as if they were playing out right that second. This was where Cocolia taught her to waltz. Her hands holding Bronya's hand and waist. Her voice calmly talking through the steps. Her feet demonstrating where Bronya should put hers. A few months ago, this was a good memory. Now it was sour and almost too painful to dwell on.

The Supreme Guardian almost had to shake her head to physically dislodge her thoughts. She had to repurpose this room. It was beautiful, after all, and going to waste. Bronya's memory shouldn't diminish the place's importance for anyone else.

As she wandered further in, she started to picture what holding another party in here would look like. Belobog citizens dressed in their finery, eating specially-cooked delicacies and listening to joyful music. Perhaps it could be an attempt to unite the people from the Overworld and the Underworld.

Seele would like that idea.

The thought of Seele made the sudden image of her appear in the centre of the room. In Bronya's fantasy, she was slow dancing with her, and the shock at her own imagination made her cheeks glow scarlet. She didn't consciously choose to imagine this- But the heart wants what the heart wants.

No, what was she thinking? She couldn't be fantasising about someone that way. She never had in the past. It was... distracting, it was useless, and most of all it was unbecoming of the young Supreme Guardian.

But, even after telling herself all of this, she couldn't deny the way the thought of the other girl lit up the room even more. It warmed those dark, shadowy corners where dark remnants of her mother lay.

That's what gave Bronya the idea.

Maybe if she could physically get Seele in here, if she could somehow replace the memory with a stronger, positive one, then she wouldn't be so afraid to step into this room. She would teach Seele to dance the way Cocolia taught her all those years ago. Who knew, maybe Seele would enjoy it?

Bronya's fantasy could be real. Even if she told herself it didn't mean anything.

"So, what's this thing you wanted to show me?" Seele was there a few hours later, curiously following Bronya down the corridors of the Fort.

"It's a surprise. But I promise you, it will be worth it." Bronya replied, not slowing down for a second.

Just as she'd theorised, just being here with Seele made these almost empty corridors a little less scary. The purple-haired girl's presence was big enough to silence the memories rushing through Bronya's mind for even just a moment. And it was certainly a welcome relief. It made Bronya want to reach over and grab Seele's hand for support. She didn't, of course. She just carried on walking.

"Hey, I don't think I've actually been round back here yet." Seele commented as they approached the grand doorways to the ballroom.

"I haven't had much chance recently. But, I looked this morning, and remembered we had this room at our disposal."

With this, Bronya reached forward and pushed the double doors open a little eccentrically to add to the effect.

"Oh shit Bronya, this place is amazing! What was it used for?" She exclaimed, raising her eyebrows as she looked the room over, taking in the view from outside and the decorated walls.

"There was a time we would throw the most lavish parties here." Bronya explained, walking forward as she spoke. "But we haven't had the chance in years."

"And... you're showing me this because... you wanna throw another party here?" Seele suggested casually, secretly hoping she'd guessed correctly.

Her plan worked, because the other girl looked taken aback.

"Yes, actually. I thought that it might be a good idea to hold an event here to encourage people from the Underworld and Overworld to become better acquainted."

Something in Seele's expression changed; the perfect blend of surprised and absolutely delighted. It made Bronya's heart soar.

"Shit Bron, that's a surprisingly good idea coming from someone who didn't care about the Underworld yesterday." Despite her happiness, she didn't hold back when it came to teasing the Guardian a little.

"I didn't- I never- That's not true, Seele-"

"Hey, hey, I know." She came to stand in front of Bronya, smiling reassuringly.

"It's a great idea. I'm all for it, if you wanted my permission or anything."

"I'm just happy to have it." The silence that followed that was surprisingly charged, with the two just standing in front of the windows... looking at each other.

"Hey, um, as I was going to be throwing the party, I was thinking..." Bronya started, avoiding eye contact. This was not something she did often. "Did you want me to teach you how to ballroom dance?"

Seele probably would've made fun of Bronya for her sudden shy demeanour, had she not immediately mirrored it. Admittedly, the question caught her extremely off guard. She didn't know much about ballroom dancing, mainly that it involved a couple sort of hugging each other and spinning about. And probably looking into each others' eyes.

Could she handle doing that with Bronya?

She realised with a start that she hadn't answered the question yet, fumbling for her reply,

"Uh, yeah sure. I don't... I don't mind. What's- Will it be easy to learn?" She internally congratulated herself for rediscovering words.

"It won't be too difficult. It just takes a little practice." Bronya explained, before holding out a hand. "May I?"

The question hung in the air between them like the moon in the sky. Undeniable and beautiful.

"Sure."

Seele took her hand and mustered a smile, ignoring the way her heart started working overtime.

Bronya gently moved their clasped hands to one side, then reached over and put her free hand on Seele's shoulder.

"Put your other hand on my waist." She said, trying not to overthink the words.

"Put my hand where? Why?"

"It's important." Seele sighed, covering her embarrassment with mock frustration.

"Okay, fine." She did so. It was an oddly comforting gesture.

"Okay, now pay attention to where my feet go." Bronya instructed, her voice all business. She wasn't prepared for a second to give away what was running through her head.

Seele just nodded and did what she asked, looking down and watching as Bronya stepped to the left and then put her feet together again.

"Copy me, okay?"

Seele stepped to the left with her, staying silent to focus on copying Bronya's position.

"And then I'm going to step forward, and you have to put your left foot back, okay?"

"Um, okay-" Seele mumbled back, fumbling a little when Bronya's foot came forward but managing to get her own leg out of the way as the other girl had instructed.

"There we go, that's great." Bronya looked up and smiled, and Seele had to fight to stop herself blushing. An immense feeling of pride bloomed in her stomach.

"And now, it's a similar movement with the right foot. Move it to the right with me, okay?" Seele nodded absentmindedly, too concentrated to give a proper answer. When Bronya moved her leg this time, Seele tried to move in sync with her, vaguely managing it.

Bronya appreciated how much she was trying.

"That's it, you'll get the hang of it in no time Seele, trust me. Now, try to move your right foot forward with me so we end up in the same position we started. Like a box, see?"

"Uh, yeah, got it-" The other girl mumbled. Bronya stepped back slowly. Seele moved forward with her, immediately going too fast and stepping on Bronya's foot. The both of them flinched.

"Shit, sorry- Er, this isn't even difficult, I'll get the hang of it-" Seele was already getting frustrated about not getting it right.

"No, it's fine, that happens. Those are the four basic steps, so there's not much else to learn."

"Oh, really?" The grin returned to Seele's face. "This'll be easy to master, then."

Bronya chuckled. "I'm sure it will be. We can try one more time, then I'll put music on."

"Bring it on."

Despite her confidence, Seele was far from perfect. The step order confused her, and she moved her left foot when she should've moved her right or vise versa many times before even remotely getting the hang of it. Once Bronya went and played some classical music for them, it only got worse, with her trying to keep up with the tempo but the slightly demanding speed challenging her.

"This is too difficult!" Seele practically growled after about ten minutes of practice. In a fit of frustration, she let go of Bronya's hand and waist and stepped back.

"I don't think I can do this, Bron. I'm just... not really cut out for this kind of elegant shit."

"Ah, um, that's okay. You don't have to learn, it's fine. No one will expect you to know."

"Yeah... sorry, Bronya." She folded her arms, guilty expression washing over her face.

"It's alright." Bronya smiled, even if disappointment tugged at her a little. "You'll still come to the ball though, won't you?"

"Yeah, course. I'd love to."

They both nodded at each other, standing a little stiffly. Bronya biting back disappointment. Guilt weighing on Seele's shoulders. It hadn't gone exactly as either of them expected.

After Seele left very shortly after, the failed dance steps didn't leave her mind. She found herself trying to practice them while she did other things. She hummed the music quietly to herself and slid her feet forwards in the correct order. Or tried to, anyway. She couldn't help but feel like she'd let Bronya down by giving up so quickly. She looked so hopeful when she asked her if she wanted to learn.

Maybe Seele should try harder.

But she couldn't ask Bronya for help, not after she'd given up earlier. Because if she gave up again it would just worsen her disappointment. Who else would be able to help me with something like this? Not many of the people she knew, that was for sure. Hook had better things to learn. Sampo would just piss her off. The only person remotely graceful enough for a dance like that was...

"Natasha?" Seele called, knocking on the pharmacy door a while later.

Natasha had managed to relocate her small hospital to the city, and was a lot better off for it. She could help more people at a time, and was even considering hiring people to help her out. Seele said she would, but she'd just been so busy recently that she hadn't had much time to do so.

"Seele?" Natasha opened the door with her signature warm smile, pulling her gloves off and setting them down on a nearby table, "It's nice to see you. Anything you needed?"

"Um, yeah, actually. I need... some help with something."

The woman just waited for her to continue.

"Do you know how to ballroom dance? Like- Waltzing with a partner and all of that?"

Natasha laughed when the question was asked. Actually laughed.

"Yes, I can. But I haven't tried in a long time now. And I certainly wasn't expecting you of all people to be asking me."

Seele crossed her arms, a little annoyed at this response, "Yeah well, here I am. I need some help about the whole thing. Bronya, um... she tried to teach me how earlier. And I was shit."

"Maybe I should've taught you when you were younger."

"Are you kidding? I would've had none of it."

The two of them laughed together this time. "I can try to help you. It would be a nice break from my work today."

Natasha moved a few chairs and put some music on, just as Bronya had done.

"Okay, how much do you know?" She asked, holding her hands out.

Seele thought back to her lesson with Bronya, taking Natasha's hand and putting her hand on her waist. It felt a lot more natural and less awkward than it did at first with Bronya.

Natasha smiled kindly.

"Very good! Now, did you also learn the box method?"

"Yeah, think so. It's... like this, right?"

Seele tried to recreate what she'd done earlier. Left foot left. Back. Right foot right. Forwards. Natasha moved with her, accomodating Seele's slight slipups or pauses with ease.

"You're almost there, Seele! It's a good thing you came to me for help, it would be a waste for you to give up now."

"Yeah... yeah, you're right."

"You need to keep in time and just remember; left left, right right. Stepping in time with your partner makes it a lot easier for both of you. Should we try while I count?"

Seele nodded, going over the steps in her head.

"Okay, here we go." Natasha started to move, gently without doing her steps too large to help Seele.

"One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four..." She counted, able to get Seele to pick up her rhythm again when she almost stepped on Natasha's foot.

"See? You're getting the hang of it even more!"

Practicing with Natasha definitely managed to take some of the pressure off Seele's shoulders. She had loved practicing with Bronya, but the pressure to get it right to impress her had been what got in her way. Which was... disappointing, to say the least. She really hoped the streak of trying too hard to impress her didn't continue. It wasn't helping anyone.

With Natasha, there was no need to prove herself. She just took it slowly, eventually getting a hang of the rhythm, and ingraining the steps into her mind. After a few songs, she had almost perfected it.

The first time she got it right, she was overjoyed.

"Nat, Nat! Hey, I did it! I actually managed it, wow. You're a pretty damn good teacher."

"Am I? Most of that was just you practicing. I'm sure Bronya is the one you should be thanking." Natasha deflected the thanks, humble as ever.

"Maybe so, but you've still been a massive help. Thanks!"

"No problem, Seele." Suddenly, the purple-haired girl wasn't the only one flushed with pride.

They continued until Seele had almost perfected it. Which was about when she decided she was sick of practicing and was ready to show Bronya right that second.

Natasha sent her off with a wave.

"See you later, Seele! Let me know how it goes with Bronya."

She was wearing a knowing smile when she said the second sentence that Seele didn't entirely understand. But, ignoring it, she just waved back, thanking Natasha a final time.

Now to find her dance partner.

"Bronya!" She called, bursting into one of Qilpoth Fort's rooms and, as per usual, not knocking beforehand.

"Oh, Seele-! You started me." The other girl replied, sitting at a desk in the back of a room. She had been alone in there until then.

"Bron, I have something to show you, you need to come with me to the ballroom again."

"Seele, I'm a little busy, I don't have the time to teach you to waltz again-"

"No, just- Just trust me, okay? You won't need to. Please follow me?"

Seele gave her a pleading look and they both just gazed at the other for a moment.

Bronya sighed, knowing she couldn't refuse.

"Okay. Okay, that's fine."

"Yesss, okay, you won't regret it."

Bronya followed Seele down the long corridors of the Fort, predominantly just confused about what the other girl wanted to show her.

"Okay, now stand in the middle of the room again. Er, hang on." Seele jogged to the corner of the room to put on the same piece as they'd tried to dance to earlier.

"I, um-"

She hadn't thought this part through. Time to wing it, she supposed. "May I have this dance?"

Undoubtedly taken aback, Bronya held her hand out like she would at any other ball.

"Of course." She replied after a few beats of confusion.

Seele took a breath and put her hand on Bronya's waist again, getting into the correct position. The Guardian just followed her lead this time.

When Seele started to dance, Bronya was admittedly surprised at the tempo and accuracy she managed. She performed the steps with a lot more elegancy and confidence than she had before, and for a moment, Bronya had no idea what had happened.

"Wow, Seele, you- How did you lea-"

"Shhh." Seele murmured. "I have my ways. Maybe I'm smarter than you thought, huh?"

The other girl had formed a brief inkling about how she might've improved while they were apart, but... she didn't want to ruin the moment.

They moved in sync with each other, their clasped hands sending waves of warmth straight to their hearts. The music kept them close together. Their emotions kept them in time.

"Okay, should we spin a little?" Bronya suggested, keeping her voice at a low volume out of fear of breaking the delicate soap bubble they were encased in, where the rest of the world didn't exist and they had no other problems.

"Go ahead." Seele nodded, their dynamic switching a little as Bronya took back the lead.

It was only them, the music, and the sun streaming through the windows. And just as Bronya had suspected, the magic this room could hold was reborn all over again.

#honkai star rail #hsr #honkaiposting #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 #archive of our own #Bronseele #Bronya x seele #Bronya hsr #Seele hsr #Bronya rand #hsr fanfic #honkai #honkai star rail fanfiction

[klonoadreams]

Decided to split what I originally had for chapter 8 of my Pokemon Legends Arceus fic, Into the Wild, to avoid crashing a burning, so here you go - get your food!!! (FFN Version here)

This may or may not be the last thing I post on this fic for a good while, since I am finally letting the Scarlet and Violet brainrot take over, and in turn, letting Scarnoa come into play.

The good news is that when I go back to this fic eventually, I have like 1K+ words to fall back on. UNTIL THEN, it’s REAL Scarnoa hours now!!!

feel free to spam my inbox with Punch Baby Akari though - I’m always up for that. Same goes for Brie. And everyone else.

Anyways I’m just glad to have gotten something out before the end of the year. Let me know what you think of this chapter, and this is all I have to say for the matter of what to expect as a sneak peek.

Time for me to sleep. When I wake up, I’m gonna go through my asks to get back on those asks I’ve otherwise forgot existed because I KEPT getting distracted by other stuff and also this fic. now that I’m free, I can do EVERYTHING.

But yeah, my inbox is always open!! :D

#klonoa writes #pokemon #pokemon fanfic #pla #pokemon legends arceus #into the wild (fanfic) #punch baby akari #feel free to ask me about punch baby akari #feel free to ask me about scarnoa #I'M FREEEEEEEEEEE

[briar-craft]

Pokemon Violet

I'm not exaggerating when I say that Pokemon is my favorite series of all time. Out of all of the games that I've ever owned, I've played and replayed pokemon the most. While I was a little behind on the games since I was born in 95 and they came out 96, I still have my original blue and yellow copies, and yes they still work! My favorite region is Hoenn but I love all of the games, and I have a copy of each game from each gen (Mostly since I was lonely so had to trade between myself)

Spoilers below for Pokemon Scarlet and Violet

For me, the game's graphics aren't a big deal. I don't really care about graphics if the story is good. So I won't talk about that.

Story wise, I love it! The world is so big and open, and going on a treasure hunt to make your own path? It makes the game unique on a whole different level from the previous games. The characters aren't all happy go lucky or downright awful, they feel like real people. They have strengths and flaws. Like Nemona, I used to focus only on my first six as a kid, whatever team I got early game was my team for the whole game, and so I can relate to Nemona not catching as many pokemon. Plus like I seen a couple of people say, she does kinda remind me of Ash, but then again she's already a champion, or so they call her a champion level student. I am glad Ash finally won a tournament, two I believe?

Arven on the other hand, I'm not overly fond of. Sure, he had his cute moments like saying he made the sandwich just for your character. But the fact that he just abandoned Miraidon on us left a sour taste in my mouth, like the Charmander's trainer in the anime way back when. But I've only gotten to one of the Titans so far, so I'll reserve my full judgement for later. Like I said, he does have his cute moments, but overall, I feel meh about him.

Team Star, I haven't gotten around to getting to one of their bases yet, but I do like the concept that they aren't just using one type of pokemon like other regional villains. Plus, they do seem like they're just kids who joined an organization they thought was good and would help them get prestige in school. They're not on the level of Team Skull to me yet, since Team Skull basically made themselves a home and family when they were rejected by everyone else, these kids seem to just want to bully people. But I'm just getting to the first base now, so we'll see.

And now the pokemon. This time around, there's so many new and interesting pokemon! From who was brought in from previous generations to the brand new pokemon and regional variations. I have not really spoiled myself too much on evolutions, just looking to see how some evolve. I chose Sprigatito as my partner, and so far may keep on Shroodle and Flittle. I also was able to get myself a Goomy, a pokemon I never had the chance to raise. But I also saw there was an evolution for Primape. Just have to wait and see how my team grows!

A couple of things I don't like: How small the pokemon are when I'm just trying to ride around on Miraidon. Like yes, it's cute and adorable, but there are times where I just want to go to where I see a thing and run into a Pichu or something and my pokemon's health is already low. I also found a couple of places you could get stuck, like in the first town I just wanted to see if I could go down an alleyway. It stopped me, I turned around to go back and nope. I thankfully could fast travel, but that's something that shouldn't happen in the first place imo. One graphical thing that bothers me a lot to put here is the shadows. They glitch in and out and I get distracted when trying to pick up a glowing spot and have to go back to see if I actually got it.

I'm still playing the game, so I'll post another one when I got about half of the things done. There's just so much to do!

#Pokemon Violet #Pokemon Scarlet #Pokemon Violet spoilers #Pokemon

[watchmakermori]

hurts to say it because pokemon means everything to me, but I'm not happy with pokemon scarlet so far. it feels so bad to play. I don't care too much about bad graphics but the constant lag and clunkiness is really distracting

It's more disappointing because it feels like a step back from legends arceus. legends had ass graphics but it felt smooth to play because they tightened up the gameplay of battling/catching pokemon so much. now we're back to slow encounters if you want a catch a pokemon, and if you accidentally walk into an encounter it takes ages to run away. I understand them not wanting to integrate everything from legends arceus because this is a more traditional pokemon game, but the battles feel soooo slow after playing legends

it feels like a step back in terms of how pokemon behave, too. the overworld and graphics in legends were pretty bland, but they did a lot to make the world feel dynamic through how the pokemon behaved. I liked that they would act differently; some would flee if you got close, some would be docile, some would attack the player - it wasn't super complex, but it made the pokemon feel more engaged and like real animals. I haven't explored paldea extensively yet, but all of the pokemon I've encountered so far just behave in the same way. feels like we traded off the pokemon dynamics of legends without getting anything in return, because its not like the overworld is that much more detailed

I'll obviously keep playing because I'm still pretty early in the game, but I'm very underwhelmed so far. I wasn't a fan of sword and shield, but legends arceus were a lot of fun and gave me hope for the future of the series. but scarlet and violet deadass feel like early access games. pokemon as a concept lends itself absolutely perfectly to an open world, exploration-based game, but they need to actually take the time to make it good. I wish they'd stop churning out games every year (the fact that legends came out in January is utterly insane to me) and take several years to release something polished with actual passion behind it

#pokémon #takes so much out of me to say this because pokemon literally means everything to me. shaped my whole childhood #and honestly an open world pokemon game should be a dream come true. but not when the open world is basically EMPTY #pokémon sv #pkmn sv

[anonymousewrites]

Of Pawns and Players Chapter Five

Chapter Five: Contemplating

            Sukuna lounged on his throne. He appeared as his usual, apathetic self. Far from the truth, as it turned out. He was considering the situation he had found himself in. It would do no good to simply continue as he had before. With the strange occurrences, it would do him well to reevaluate his strategy and consider alternatives.

            Ren’s alternative? Kill her on the wedding day? Don’t be ridiculous. Even if was a fairly, and he meant fairly, decent idea, she was still a mortal. She could not understand his grand plans. Sukuna was going to reshape the jujutsu world. No more clans in charge, only him. But Ren paid no mind to that. She wanted the Gojo Clan to suffer now, and greatly.

            While he wanted to display his power and humiliate them, Sukuna also needed to consider his future plans. It was not that he was worried about getting injured; it was that he…Well, the truth was he had real plan. His only move was to kill Ren. And the same think would happen whether he killed her now or later. That was why he hadn’t killed her yet. Sukuna may as well enjoy himself. In the end, he was just entertained currently and didn’t want that to end. Ren challenged him. He wanted to continue playing with her some more. And then, when she wasn’t expecting it, he’d kill her.

            That was the crux of Sukuna’s problem. She was always expecting it, and on her wedding day, even if it was a devious idea which would cause humiliations galore for the Gojos, she would be even more ready. Sukuna wanted her fear when this challenge ended. It had to finish at some point. And as the King of Curses, it would be on his terms. If he had to be bored again afterward, he would make the most of his present entertainment.

            Sukuna scowled. She’s proving much more troublesome than she’s worth.

l

            Uraume observed his lord in concern. Sukuna had been distracted and off recently. And it had all started with the plan to kill Takeshi Gojo’s fiancée. They frowned. She wasn’t even dead yet. Uraume sighed. While they respected and served Sukuna loyally, they couldn’t help but feel disconcerted at the trouble Okada ren was causing their lord. Sukuna was steadfast in his decisions, and Uraume while would never describe him as such, he was a bit brash at times. For him to be rethinking an idea for so long was strange.

            “Sukuna-sama.” Uraume stepped from the shadows and bowed.

            Sukuna looked up and waved a hand nonchalantly. “Speak, Uraume.”

            “Dinner has been prepared,” they said.

            “Bring it in.”

            “Of course, my lord.” Uraume nodded their head to the nervous servants in the corner. A tray was wheeled out, piled with all sorts of foods. As Sukuna settled in, Uraume watched him, holding their tongue.

            “I can feel your eyes on me, Uraume.” Sukuna scarlet eyes flickered to meet his gaze. “Speak up. Something’s on your mind.”

            “I was…simply curious about how the situation with Okada Ren is going,” said Uraume.

            “Do you believe I’m not proceeding well?” questioned Sukuna.

            “Of course not, Sukuna-sama. I merely noticed your earlier contemplation.” Uraume glanced to Sukuna’s eyes. “You have no killed her yet.”

            “I like to play with my food,” answered Sukuna carelessly. “You know that.”

            Sukuna-sama… Uraume frowned. Why is she so interesting to you?

l

            Ren sat quietly as a maid carefully pinned her hair up elaborately. As she slid small, red-jeweled flowers into the updo, Ren watched them glint. They were a reminder of the Gojo wealth to those who saw it, but Ren…well, they reminded her of something different.

            Scarlet jewels like scarlet eyes.

            She smiled to herself.

            “Are you excited for the wedding, miss?” asked the maid, seeing the smile.

            “Oh, of course,” lied Ren. “Now, I can take care of the rest.”

            “Oh, no, it’s my job to—.”

            “I insist.” Ren smiled shyly, as if embarrassed. “To tell the truth, I’ve just been a bit overwhelmed. I think a few moments to myself would do me good.”

            The maid smiled warmly. “I understand.” She bowed and left the room.

            Ren’s smile fell as soon as she was gone. Insufferable. They’re all simpletons who see nothing but the surface. Her pins glinted red in the light. At least he’s not shallow. She picked an unused ornament and gazed at it. Morose, she sighed and put it down. I wish a bit more time. Though I am doomed to death, I have more control over my life when I’m with him than when I’m with my own family. She strolled to her chessboard. Taking a white bishop, Ren placed it back down on the board. As she gazed at the board, she picked up the black king. It’s strange. He’s the proud, arrogant, quite frankly sadistic King of Curses, yet he treats me with more respect than any other man ever has. She chuckled to herself and placed the king back where it was (moving the king wasn’t strategic for black yet). Quite ironic when he’s actively attempting to murder me. It almost makes me regret my plan. Her eyes darkened. How irritating, he won’t just kill me.

#of pawns and players #sukume #jjk sukuna #sukuna x oc x uraume #sukuna x uraume #sukuna x oc #sukuna #sukuna fluff #ryomen sukuna #sukuna ryomen #jjk oc #jjk #jujutsu kaisen oc #jujutsu kaisen #jjk uraume #uraume #uraume x oc #original character #oc

[stuckonvenus]

THE LAST OF US.

PART I. Song of the Birds

Jules was an exceptional student. While at first he didn’t respond well to the treatment he received by his commanding officers, FEDRA personnel that had known the world for much longer than him, from before it all went to hell — he adapted, as everyone in his family had learned to do over time. Still, he was never as good as his older brother. That went without saying. They may have been identical, but that only went so far as physicality. Even that had begun warping their reflections of one another as Ziggy threw himself into the hard labor the academy offered in return for better rations; he had a six-pack that looked like it’d been drawn on with stencil on his already willowy figure and his arms had become more defined in only a few months. Meanwhile, Jules was resigned to being the better half of them when it came to custodial duties, which he was told by other kids like him was the real work. No one would survive in a QZ without proper maintenance just as much as they wouldn’t survive without soldiers guarding the perimeters.

He spent most of his days sweeping or washing dishes or tending to superficial wounds people would accumulate from partaking in the invigorating extracurriculars like hyper-surveilled flag football and soccer. He would think of his best friend, Zelda, more often than he did before, and whenever a blush would appear on his naturally pale skin and someone took notice they’d ask, Who is she? Mistaking his bashfulness for a person that actually existed outside his own head. Then he’d lie, just so he didn’t seem as lame, and one time it worked out for the better. At least, for a little while.

Reminiscing on their last day together, sat on the swing sets while he broke the news that he’d be condemning himself to years worth of schooling just to become yet another cog in the government’s machine, he turned a sort of scarlet that attracted the attention of one of his classmates.

“Jules?” Nadine Zhou spoke up. She was one of the prettier girls in his class and resembled his best friend; adorning olive-toned skin, dark eyes, and silky black hair that any guy would fantasize about brushing their fingers through. How did she even keep such good care of herself, anyway? They were hardly allowed any amenities that would improve their image, like cream for their skin or scented soap that definitely existed, because some of the senior officers smelled not just like mothballs but lavender and mothballs. Yet Nadine was always perfect. Perhaps she’d just won the genetic lottery.

“O-Oh, sorry,” Jules apologized, blinking twice to snap out of his daze. He looked down at the hands that were clutching a plate, noticing she’d grasped onto his wrist gently. “I’m fine. Just got distracted.”

She smiled, all her teeth ivory like the keys of a piano he used to play at his childhood home in New York. “That’s okay. Didn’t want you to drop a dish, is all.” she gave a chuckle and returned to cleaning the dishes at his side. He swallowed, percolating on what to say next — if he should say anything, for that matter, or if he was better off remaining silent and subdued. But before he could decide, she continued talking. “I see you around a lot. I’ve been wanting to talk to you forever, but we never get assigned the same tasks on the same days. It sucks.”

“... You, uh, you wanted the same tasks as me?” he wondered with quickly expanding eyes.

“Yeah. You seemed more relaxed than most of the guys around here. They’re all brutes, I swear.” A snort escaped her nose, but it wasn’t an unflattering sound when it came from her.

Jules couldn’t deny he felt flattered that someone other than Zelda was comfortable around him. Sometimes he thought that he was too awkward a being to warrant anyone feeling compelled to be near him, let alone want to share mundane tasks like washing dishes or folding laundry with. Yet there she was, Nadine Zhou, in all the glory built up around her public perception, exactly how everyone saw her as: perfect. Which was probably why he figured he was being tricked.

“Did someone pay you to say that?” he asked, unease pulsating from his core as he side-eyed her.

Her eyebrows knitted together, genuine confusion etched on her face. “No?” she said. “I meant it. Really. Do you not hear that often or something?”

“Well, no,” he answered honestly.

Nadine’s brows relaxed and she finished washing off the final dish, placing it in the drying rack beside the sink before moving to face him with her hands planted firmly on her hips. “I don’t lead people on, you know. Especially not nice people.”

He felt he’d affronted her, so he quickly backtracked. “I’m — I’m sorry. It’s my bad.”

Her shoulders slumped at his reaction and she took a step forward, a move he hadn’t anticipated as two green saucers stared at her. “I’ll forgive you if you come to my bunk later. I hear you’re good at memorizing patrol routes, and my brain does not agree with that much geography. Deal?” she held out a hand, and he noticed as he reached out to take it that her nails were perfectly manicured. How did she even exist?

“... Deal.” he confirmed, shaking her hand.

Later on, Jules used the map he created alongside Ziggy to navigate the halls of the academy so that he could locate Nadine’s bunk. 204-A, she’d said, her breath smelling like mint and cherries, another thing that made her ethereal to him. He snuck along the walls, moonlight casting his shadow across the wooden floorboards until he made it to the first staircase and ascended them, taking it one slow step at a time to avoid any of them creaking and potentially ruining his cover. He folded the map closed once he glanced up and saw the correct number and letter embellished in a metal frame outside one of the doors on the second floor.

He gulped and thought over his decisions for the thousandth time before he rapped twice on the doorway, the sound more muffled than if he’d chosen to knock directly on the door. It took a couple seconds for it to come open, but when it did, all he could see was Nadine’s excitement flourishing across her lips and in her eyes as she tugged him inside.

They sat on her bed, which was the same as his except her flannelette was green instead of blue like his’, which made him think of Ziggy for a moment — that had always been his favorite color. The green in the trees, in the moss, decorating the dilapidated buildings that once made cities fortresses for the living rather than the dead. He snapped out of it whenever Nadine began asking about patrol routes, to which he pulled out the ones he’d made and she followed in suit and took out the ones handed out in their class. With only the light of her bedside lamp glowing, they stayed up until sunrise as he simplified each route on her map, their shoulder blades rubbing up against one another and their fingers tumbling over the other’s hand as they pointed out a distinct path. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so calm, or so in sync with someone else, and by the time he had to leave he wish he didn’t have to.

They never knew each other intimately. As much as Ziggy endorsed it (perhaps too much), and as much as Jules thought he should want to, he liked the way things were between him and Nadine. They’d made out once, behind the bleachers of the soccer field his brother played on, but he didn’t feel anything from it, so he didn’t initiate it again. He felt the most alive when they walked side by side in the halls, their fingertips brushing, shy smiles exchanged before they parted ways to class.

One evening, Jules had discovered a closed piano in an abandoned classroom. Only Nadine knew where to find him then, as his younger sister had finally come of age to be enrolled and his twin was busied getting her settled into life at the academy. There was only the light of the moon to guide his fingers between each key, which he played quietly lest one of the instructors found him out. He played Fur Elise, the first song his father ever taught him, and then began playing a transcribed version of Song of the Birds. She came in, wet from the rain that was pouring outside, and sat beside him, but he wasn’t thrown off by her arrival. He smiled from the corner of his mouth and kept playing. She rested her head on his shoulder. Once the song came to an end, their fingers tangled together, skin to skin, tracing the other’s fingerprints, until a thundering in the distance awoke both of them from their trance and Nadine glanced up at him.

“Do you think you could do it?” she asked quietly, lifting her head up to see him properly.

Jules frowned at her. “Do what?”

“Kill one of them.” she said. “Kill anyone.”

He thought about it for a while, then shrugged. “If I had to.” he answered. “And I guess I will, one day—”

Before he could finish, Nadine had yanked up her sleeve and revealed a bite mark. His eyes grew in size but he couldn’t seem to move or do anything except for stare. She didn’t need his words, though, because as she reached into her jacket and unearthed a tool that she must’ve used to fight off Infected, since it was already bloodied at the head.

“I did something stupid,” she whispered to him. “I don’t have long left. I want you to do it. I need you to.”

Jules began to shake his head as she forced his arm forward and placed the tool in his hand. “N-Nadine—”

“That route you crossed out? I went on it. It was stupid, but I wanted to see what was there,” she said. “I didn’t know if you were just being overprotective like everyone else. But you weren’t and now I — I — Jules, please. I’m sorry.”

He stared into her brown eyes, which had begun welling with tears, and as he gulped he gripped onto the tool tighter before pressing his lips against hers. He could taste the salt in her mouth as she started to cry more. That’s all he could think about, the taste of salt and mint and cherries, before he swung as hard as he could and the only thing left to swallow was blood.

PART II. Fighter

It was fucking boring, being so revered by your superiors that they put you in charge of patrols. Ziggy knew he was the best of his class, well, one of the best, which is why they didn’t bother putting him through classes that required more brainpower than it did to scan a general area. At least he was given his own gun; not that he was permitted to actually pull the trigger. Hell, he wasn’t even trusted with bullets, he was only tasked with learning how to articulate with one. How fucking stupid was that? The one thing that made patrol days worthwhile was Bailey. A year above him and everything he wanted to be, the picture perfect FEDRA soldier and he hadn’t even graduated yet. What made it better and worse was that he was drop dead gorgeous, in a way Ziggy didn’t even know existed anymore. It seemed like after everything went to shit, people’s standards really shot down, either that or all the super hot people were the first to go.

He used every excuse in the book to get in close with Bailey. It was sort of pathetic, but none of his friends had the heart to tell him. Besides, they knew that any spark that could be salvaged within the walls of the academy should. Wasn’t so long ago that the school jewel Nadine had gotten bitten and tried to attack his little brother, after all, and everyone secretly thought they’d be the next It Couple, braving the post-apocalyptic earth together. As much as he felt for Jules, Ziggy knew it wouldn’t have lasted.

One day, he was placed on the same patrol as Bailey, and in honor of his brother’s sacrifices he stayed attached at the hip to him. They walked silently for a while, Ziggy basking in the other’s presence whilst he was likely thinking about his next posting. Seniors at the academy always got their schedules before the week, meanwhile underclassmen like Ziggy had to scramble to figure out where they’d be the day of. He glanced up at the other eventually, trying to think of a conversation starter.

“... Nadine was a cool girl,” he decided to say. Shit, was that even okay to mention? He’d seen her hang around the in-crowd that was Bailey Welker’s circle before, but she was still too young to be considered a part of the pack, he thought. “Shame what happened.”

Bailey snorted at this. “She was stupid for going outside like that. I feel worse for your brother. She was crazy, too, for making him kill her.”

A little caught off guard by his cavalier attitude, Ziggy rolled his shoulders as he formulated a response. “Jules will be alright.” he said, although he didn’t sound entirely convinced. “I don’t even think they were actually dating or anything. Just friends. Did you... Know her well?”

The blond gave a shrug. “Well enough. She came from troubled parents. So it’s not a surprise she ended up the same way. I just think it’s shitty to take someone else down with you like that.” Once they’d reached the end of the path, Bailey went to lean against a half-destroyed brick wall. “If it were me, I’d just shoot myself.”

“I don’t think she had a gun.” Ziggy pointed out before the other unearthed a joint from one of his pockets and a lighter from another. He seemed caught off guard, which made Bailey chuckle as he secured the rolled paper between his teeth and lit the end. He glanced over to Ziggy, who seemed more than intrigued by the prospect of a hit, and grinned widely as he offered it over while holding the smoke in his lungs.

Ziggy pulled in a deep breath, his nose scrunching up before he exhaled and a cloud of smoke engulfed them briefly. “Christ, where’d you get that?” he asked between coughs that he muffled into his elbow.

“Seniors get all sorts of contraband,” Bailey informed him, plucking the joint from his fingers so he could take another hit. “I was hoping you wouldn’t know that. I hate hanging out with phonies.”

“I’m not a phony.” Ziggy insisted. The other appeared amused at this. “I’m not.”

Bailey turned toward him, blowing the smoke into his face, to which Ziggy didn’t falter. “I know that. Now, at least. If you make it through the rest of this patrol then I’ll really know it.” he said as he leaned down and put out the joint, securing it in his pocket again before moving out ahead of the lankier male, who followed him like a lost puppy.

“There’s someone I think you should meet,” Bailey said at some point during their walk back — Ziggy really didn’t know what he meant about surviving the rest of the patrol. All they had to do was loop back to the academy. “She’s good at sniffing people out. But she doesn’t go here. She’s on the outside.”

Ziggy scrunched his nose up as he glanced over to Bailey. “She’s in Boston?” To which he nodded. “Oh. Maybe I know her already.”

“You don’t,” The blond chuckled to himself. “Trust me. If you did, you’d know. And you’d never be able to forget her.”

Seeming unconvinced, Ziggy adjusted his unloaded gun on his shoulder. “I’m sure my brother thought the same before a crazy girl made him kill her before she turned.” he said pointedly. He’d definitely gotten creeped out by all the better looking girls as of late, which mostly contributed to his slight obsession with the senior.

“This girl is nothing like that.” Bailey reassured him, spinning around and beginning to walk backwards so he could face him. “You know how it feels to wake up with sunlight coming in through your windows? You get a little blinded at first, but it’s nice to feel warm?” When Ziggy nodded along, he continued. “That’s what it’s like being around her. She’s stunning. And an excellent judge of character.”

Before Ziggy could respond, Bailey’s face grew eerily neutral as he shoved the underclassman aside and held up his gun, shooting at something that fell with a thud. Looking over his shoulder, Ziggy was surprised to see a runner collapsed on the ground behind them. He didn’t even know they got past the main gates of the academy. It was supposed to be one of the most secure areas of the QZ.

“Almost ended up like Nadine,” The blond said, nudging Ziggy as he approached the runner. “A stray. They still have some smarts left to break in through the fencing, and if the electric shock doesn’t kill them — well, here you have it.”

That night, Ziggy practically terrorized everyone on his floor about who the person Bailey was talking about could’ve been. All the pieces he collected from them framed a mottled picture of who she was; she’d never gone to the academy, in fact she made a point not to, she was light as air and made everyone feel good, and Bailey hadn’t been exaggerating whenever he spoke of her people skills. But how did so many shut-ins know about just one person? He worried, uselessly, if he was the only person that the senior had taken specific interest in, or if he’d just been left out of the loop since he arrived nearly two years prior.

He decided to vent about it to Jules, who he thought needed the distraction anyway. He’d been pouring over his maps for weeks since Nadine, obsessing over them, something that Ziggy knew he needed to stop to prevent further damage to his little brother’s already damaged psyche.

“He said she feels like sunlight coming in through the window when you’re waking up,” Ziggy said, hanging upside down from the side of his bed while Jules worked on his geography homework instead. “I didn’t even know people could feel like that, y’know? I’m not even sure what I feel about Bails. Bailey, sorry. Don’t wanna gross you out. Actually, I do. Bails is fucking amazing, so how can it get much better than that? How can a person be literal sunshine?”

“Sounds like something dad would say, if he knew how to describe people.” Jules murmured, mostly to himself.

Ziggy slowly looked over to Jules, feeling so enlightened that he tackled his brother in his excitement. This had to be the real deal. And he was going to find out. Soon.

PART III. Cruel to Be Kind

In truth, Adrienna didn’t remember life before taking refuge in Boston. Her brothers would always talk about how fun living in New York City was, despite their father’s demanding job; how they’d get to see the coolest exhibitions, visit the zoo, eat ice cream on the sidewalk and watch the world go by. Now, the world was mostly toast and the only hope for the future were the scarcely placed FEDRA academies that trained the next generation of soldiers to help wipe out the rest of the Infected. But she did have a few things to be grateful for — her two best friends, for instance. Miles was introspective and witty and Aiden was sweet and resourceful, and neither of them remembered what things were like before they all met, which made it all the better. They were on an equal playing field. Which is why they tackled the academy as a team. Although Ziggy insisted on giving her a formal tour the first week, she stuck by the side of her friends’ more than she did her actual family.

At the end of it all, though, Miles was the one who she spoke to the most about the stuff she couldn’t tell Aiden, who was a league ahead of them and the star pupil of their drill instructors’ eyes. She knew that it didn’t torture him to be told every event that unfolded in her life, because he wanted to be a writer, the first one since everything went to shit, and she thought she gave him pretty good material to work with.

Miles was following behind her to class one day, specifically gym, something he didn’t excel at as much as Adrienna and Aiden, scribbling in the notebook he carried everywhere. “I have it written... Shit, somewhere, it’s something about your grandma? She worked for the government before all this started.” he said. “What do you know about that? What’d she do?”

“She... Did stuff with computers,” she answered after thinking for a moment. “And she’s the reason my dads could have my brothers and me. I dunno what else. Oh, she got us into the QZ through it, so maybe she was with FEDRA before it was FEDRA, y’know?”

He murmured something unintelligible, making her toss her hair over her shoulder and look back at him with a sharpened gaze. “Why do you wanna know, anyway? I thought you were writing about you, me and Ace. The Three Musketeers or whatever.”

“Yeah. This is for that. I have to dig deeper if I wanna get anywhere, Adrie,” Miles insisted as they walked into the hallway that separated the locker rooms from each other. “I’ll see you after?”

Adrienna saluted him. “See you, cap’n. Try not to stroke out this time.”

“I did not stroke out, I had an asthma attack, and I survived, if you recall.”

She made a wavering motion with her hand, to which he flipped her off before ducking into the boys locker room and she headed in the opposite direction. She tried not to think about everyone else staring at her as she walked inside, hyper-aware of how much taller she was than the other girls, how she didn’t inherit anything naturally despite feeling exactly like the rest of them mentally. She stripped quickly and got redressed in her all-black garbs that were required of each student during gym. They were allowed to choose which activity they participated in each day, and she always chose ballet. Some fingered it an odd hobby to pursue, but she defended it by saying it made her more agile and therefore more likely to survive if she were ever outside the QZ for one reason or another. Really, she enjoyed how it made her feel, it’s the only time she could embrace every limb that sprouted from her lanky form and could be as light as air without a care in the world.

Once class ended, she moved to get showered, but before she could enter the room the door had been blockaded by a small squadron of young boys and girls her age. She shuffled uncomfortably where she stood, unsure why they were blocking her from entering the showers.

“What—”

“We’re not lettin’ you in there, freak,” one of them said, a grin curling on the corner of their lips. Adrienna frowned and moved to push past them anyway but she was harshly rebutted, stumbling back a few steps and hardly catching herself. “Tripp, go for it.”

Before she could react, the oldest of them towered over her with striking blue eyes and badly dyed bleach blond hair, and he’d grabbed her arm and sunk his teeth half an inch deep into the flesh. She let out a scream as the blood escaped her pulsating veins, struggling to rip herself away from Tripp as he kept his grip on her tight between his jaw. Eventually, she was able to free herself, looking down at the imprint of his teeth and the chunk of flesh that had gone missing. Red had stained his mouth as he grinned widely down at her and nodded at the others, who’d proceeded to gather around her and begin kicking wherever their feet landed. At some point she could taste metal in her mouth, and if only she knew how close she was to her brother right then — if only.

“Can’t survive out in the big bad world if you can’t handle a human bite, freak.” Tripp laughed, something that echoed painfully in her ears, her own blood being spat back in her face.

She’d blacked out before she could get herself off of the floor to try and fight back; whenever she woke up, she was in the infirmary with gauze wrapped around her arm and band aids stuck to various patches of flesh that had been brutalized in the attack. She let out a groan, trying to move herself around before she could feel a hand coaxing her back down into the bed.

“Take it easy, Adrienna,” the voice said. Once her ears stopped ringing, she recognized it as the resident nurse that always kept tabs on each gym activity. “You’ve been through a lot.”

No shit, she wanted to say if she didn’t have a filter instilled unto her from the moment she was enrolled in the academy. Instead, she cleared her hoarse throat so she could ask what had happened. “That’s what I’d like to know. Between you and Nadine, this whole place has been up in arms lately,” the nurse told her. “We found you in a puddle of blood in the north wing. Outside the showers. Do you remember being there at all?”

Adrienna stared ahead for a moment as flashes of the attack came to her behind her eyes every time she blinked. “... I-I do.” she answered eventually. “I was getting back from ballet.”

“And who was there?” the nurse asked. “Did you recognize anyone?”

She thought through her options. It would’ve been easy to rat out Tripp and the rest of his friends, if they were even his friends at all, but that could’ve meant trouble down the road for her if his repercussions weren’t severe enough — it was stupid, and she could already hear Aiden scolding her for it, but she shook her head in response.

The nurse gave a sigh and nodded, writing something down on her chart. “Alright. We’ve gotta keep you in here for observation, but you should be good to go back to your room tomorrow. Rest, okay?” she smiled a plastic yet weirdly reassuring smile at Adrienna, who did her best to relax where she’d been lain.

It was difficult finding sleep, not knowing what she did to deserve such a brutal attack. Was it some sort of hazing? Obviously not, as they’d called her out for what the deepest recesses of her mind would remind her she was: a freak, one not of nature but of science, which was worse than the former. She could feel the tears prickle her waterline and she gazed up at the ceiling to try and prevent them from staining her cheeks. In the end, the only thing that could lull her to sleep was remembering what her father had told her once.

“You know,” Lionel said, wrapping an arm around Adrienna. It was shortly after she’d come out, which hadn’t come as much of a surprise as she was anticipating, and it was snowing and they were sitting on the stoop outside the house and watching each snowflake fall from the sky. “I was different too. Before all this. Kids couldn’t get enough out of making my life hell. But you know what I did that whole time? Even when your dad saved the day? I fought back. And I wasn’t nice about it. I gave everyone exactly what they deserved. And, well, maybe I wasn’t successful all the time, but I tried. And that’s all that really counts in the end, A-slice. Trying. Everyday. Just like you did now.”

She remembered the feeling; the feeling of being understood, of knowing that it was okay to not be a bystander, and she hadn’t known exactly what happened to her that day — maybe she’d lost herself for a moment, fallen victim to the cruel words spoken to her — but with a permanent scar now on her arm to prove that it had, in fact, happened, she did know that it wouldn’t happen again. She was sure of it.

And when she finally mustered up the courage to tell Aiden, he made sure of it, too.

PART IV. Free

All Reina knew was the outside world. Where the Fireflies made their hiding spaces in plain sight. Evergreen trees and spring grass, wide blue, endless skies with clouds that she could shape into any animal she liked with her mind’s eye. She was taught how to survive off the land from a young age, after her family had originally left the Salt Lake City QZ. At first, she was given a pocket knife, which she learned to throw like a dagger, then she was given a shotgun at the age of nine, where she took down her first buck, and finally she was gifted her bow and arrow set for her fifteenth birthday. It was made of birchwood and sinew, the arrows crafted similarly to match. By that time, she wasn’t afraid of anything that came with a sting.

Before all of this, when she was still learning, she still had her mother as well. Amihan was the leader of the Fireflies out west, and she guided her daughter in her footsteps. They would camp out in the forests for days at a time for a hunt, like they lived in medieval times. Reina could remember looking up at the night sky and fall asleep counting stars.

“You’re going to make a good leader one day, Rainbow,” Amihan said as they followed along a stream, her daughter occasionally becoming distracted by the tadpoles she’d see swimming upstream against the current. “Once I’m gone, people will rely on you. You’ll have to be there to lift them up when they’re put down.”

Reina’s soft brown hues wandered up her mother’s form as she caught up beside her. “You won’t be gone,” she said, as if it were that simple, which made Amihan chuckle. She reached out and took her mother’s hand. “I won’t let you be gone.”

Kneeling down in the damp grass, Amihan stroked Reina’s tanned cheek and tucked her chocolate curls behind her ear. “Some things can’t be helped. Mothers always leave their daughters. This has always been how things work out. There’s no other way.” This was difficult for the young girl to comprehend, and she made it evident with how her brow creased inward at the idea that her mother would someday not be there. “I’ve been without my mother for a long time. You’ll survive just as well as I have.”

“How are you sure?” Reina asked, her eyes giving Amihan a cautious once-over.

“Because,” Amihan said, stroking the braid that she’d made for her hours earlier. “When you’re in the darkness, you follow the light.”

Upon returning to their homestead that night, which had once been a grand old mansion turned into a safe haven, Amihan was the one to put Reina to bed. She read a tale of a mouse named that had to endure winter without his best friend — a hedgehog going into hibernation, so he made a scrapbook for him about his adventures for the hedgehog to read for when he woke up in the spring. Before she could fall asleep fully, she reached out for her mother’s hand.

“I’ll see you in the morning?” she said softly.

Amihan leaned in and pressed a kiss against Reina’s forehead. “Goodnight, Rainbow.”

In the morning, when she woke up, all that was left in her mother’s wake was a letter on the kitchen table that read: FOLLOW THE LIGHT. Reina had sobbed in her father’s arms afterwards, letting him coddle her all morning long until she had exhausted herself. When she opened her eyes again, she could feel the ache of missing someone in the marrow of her bones, and as she glanced up she saw that her father was asleep as well. She pulled a blanket over the two of them, not wanting to disturb his slumber, and rested for the remainder of the night.

There was a hunt scheduled for the next day, so Reina didn’t see her father until he returned at night after having skinned a buck for the two of them. Dinner was quiet, neither of them knowing what to say to the other. They hadn’t been the closest before Amihan left, but she knew that he loved her, maybe more because she was an extension of her mother rather than because she was her own person, however she didn’t really know the difference yet.

“... She said that all moms leave,” Reina spoke up in between bites. “When we were down by the stream. She... She said I would have to be like her once she’s gone.”

Walter’s eyes drifted upward from his half-eaten plate, staring directly into his daughter. “What else did she say?”

Too distracted by her own emotions, Reina didn’t recognize the terseness in his voice. “I... I said I couldn’t be without her, and she said... When you’re in the darkness, follow the li—” Before she could finish, Walter had slammed both fists on the table, effectively silencing her.

“Fucking bitch!” he shouted, grabbing his plate and throwing it against the wall. Reina watched it shatter into a thousand pieces, then began backing out of her chair whenever he reached for his wine glass to toss next. She could feel the tears build as she hurried up the stairs. “You’ll never be like her! You’ll — you’ll never!” he was saying, but blood had begun whirring in her ears and she was sobbing by the time she was secure inside her room.

She curled up at the edge of her bed, crying uselessly as she kept her head ducked between her knees. It wasn’t until she’d run out of tears that she looked up, her vision bleary, and glanced over to notice one of her old diaries peeking out from underneath her bed. Slowly, she reached her hand out, then winced as she felt a sharp sting coming from her foot. Looking down, she saw a shard of glass sticking out, and she winced as she eased it out from underneath her skin. Holding the shard in her hand still, she reached out for the diary and thumbed through it, becoming more aggressive until eventually she was ripping out the filled in entries, crumpling them up in her hand and discarding them much like her father had ruined his plate and glass. After the anger had run its course, her breath was ragged and she was staring down at the blank pages that remained, then pushed herself up and grabbed a pencil from her desk.

I CAN’T FEEL YOU HERE. FOLLOW THE LIGHT. FOLLOW THE LIGHT. FOLLOW THE LIGHT. FOLLOW THE LIGHT. MOM?

At the end of the page, she taped the bloodied glass down.

Years passed, and as she grew, the thicker the diary became. She would write to her mother daily, from short anecdotes to pages-long confessionals, decorating each page with a different leaf or pressed flower or tuft of fur from whatever animal she caught. She was hardly seen without it; meanwhile the sight of it sickened her father, who forbade it during meal times, which is when she began eating in her room rather than participating in it as a family affair. They were hardly family, anyway.

She struggled feeling in control of her life, even with the diary. She hunted alone, not conducting any patrols or asserting authority over anyone. Her father had reassured her countless times that she would never be a leader like Amihan had been. She was better off to be seen and not heard, and occasionally, shoot at trespassers with her pristine archery skills. And one afternoon, when she was following the trail that ran parallel to the stream her and her mother would frequent, she spotted a grouse cutting overhead — and in two simple motions she’d struck it out of the sky. From the other side of the rushing water, she could hear someone say, Holy shit! and when she looked over she saw a boy, brown-haired with dark eyes and an impressed smile on his lips, and rather than ignore him, she smiled back.

#self-para #6k words

[welllpthisishappening]

Tripping Over the Blue Line (33/45)

It’s a transition. That’s what Emma’s calling it. She’s transitioning from one team to another, from one coast to another and she’s definitely not worried. Nope. She’s fine. Really. She’s promised Mary Margaret ten times already. So she got fired. Whatever. She’s fine, ready to settle into life with the New York Rangers. She’s got a job to do. And she doesn’t care about Killian Jones, captain of the New York Rangers. At all.

He’s done. One more season and he’s a free agent and he’s out. It’s win or nothing for Killian. He’s going to win a Stanley Cup and then he’s going to stop being the face of the franchise and he’s going to go play for some other garbage team where his name won’t be used as puns in New York Post headlines. That’s the plan. And Emma Swan, director of New York Rangers community relations isn’t going to change that. At all.

They are both horrible liars.

Rating: Mature Content Warnings: Swearing, eventual hockey-type violence AN: It’s deadline day! Regina’s phone battery is constantly dying, Killian is super stressed out and the New York media continues to be the worst. Just timeline-wise, in case you guys were wondering, we’re in March here and just about a month removed from the start of the playoffs, which last, approximately, forever in hockey. As always you guys continue to blow my mind with your response to this story, which would be nothing without @laurnorder, @distant-rose & @beautiful-swan.  Also hanging out on Ao3, FF.net and tag’ed up on Tumblr.

“What are those?” Killian asked, narrowing his eyes at his phone screen.

Emma laughed on the other line, several hundred miles and state lines away, and half a dozen of his organs seemed to contract at once. “You’ve never seen flowers before?” she asked, obviously stretching her arm out until the entire frame was just a sea of red roses.

“I am aware of what flowers are, Swan, I’m just curious why you’re sticking your phone in them.” The laugh was a huff now and Killian felt himself smiling out of instinct – and maybe missing her a bit more than he realized before this FaceTime phone call.

It was easier if he could see her though.

And it was deadline day.

She hadn’t even grumbled about how early it was – not really, but early by Emma-standards on a Sunday seemed to be any time before noon – and he was already at the arena and she was sitting in her office, feet propped up on her desk, just a few inches away from, what appeared, to be two dozen roses in the corner.

“Ok,” she said, spinning the camera back around until all he could see was her face and that infuriating piece of hair that never wanted to cooperate when she pulled it up into a ponytail. “Several things. First of all, I didn’t stick my phone into them. I was showing them to you. And second of all, shouldn’t you be at pre-game or at least in front of a locker?” The answer, of course, was yes. He should have been at his locker, at least, fifteen minutes ago and he had been – at least for a little while. He was, after all, already in pads, but then he could hear the media making their way into the room before puck drop at noon and, suddenly, there was nowhere in the entire world Killian Jones wanted to be less than in front of his visitor’s locker in Minnesota.

There was something almost oddly poetic about deadline day happening while they were in Minnesota. Anna had mentioned it several times in the last week – practically crowing about the vest Killian wore to coach his losing team and then announcing, in no unquestioned terms, that this road trip was some kind of sign.

It, apparently, meant something.

Killian only thought it meant he couldn’t be near his girlfriend when things, quite possibly, went to complete shit.

He’d never felt more clingy in his life.

“And,” Emma added, eyebrows pulled low like he hadn’t responded simply because he didn’t appreciate her first two points. “You’re the one who called me.” “Maybe I just wanted to talk to you,” Killian said, trying, and, failing to make his smile look convincing.

“Yuh huh.” “Who are the flowers from, Swan?” “Couldn’t you read the card? That’s why I moved the phone forward.” “I thought you were just pushing your phone into the vegetation.” “Vegetation,” she repeated and he’d probably be able to score six goals that afternoon fueled only on the sound of her laugh. “That’s awfully clinical.” Killian shrugged, pushing back into the corner he’d taken up residence in. “Where are you, anyway?” Emma continued.

“I have no idea honestly,” he said. “I walked out of the locker room, called you and found this very comfortable, dark corner that I’m considering claiming as my own.” “You’re half dressed though.” “Also true.” Emma clicked her tongue, mouth twisting slightly and he knew there were more questions, knew exactly what she wanted to ask – why he was considering claiming this very comfortable, dark corner as his own. He didn’t really have an answer.

At least he didn’t have an answer that wasn’t, simply, deadline day.

“Mrs. Vankald,” Emma said suddenly, voice catching him off guard. He nearly slid down the wall.

“What?” “Mrs. Vankald,” she repeated. The smile on her face probably could have helped set up several goals as well. He was primed for some kind of record day at this point. Maybe that would make the deadline easier to deal with.

“Mrs. V is sending you flowers.” “Was that supposed to be a question? It didn’t really sound like a question.” “I have no idea,” Killian said and, well, at least it was honest. Emma’s laugh sounded a little sad – that probably wouldn’t score any goals or notch any assists.

He needed to stop this train of thought.

He needed to go back to his locker.

He didn’t want to answer anymore questions.

Killian already felt like he’d stolen the charity game – and someday he was going to do something about stories coming out at the most inopportune moments, but it felt a little ungrateful to start spouting things about the media at this point in his career.

And Regina had told him – with a very specific look on her face – that he was only supposed to make comments on the games and the standings and how determined he was to win a Stanley Cup this season.

There would be no comments about the impending trade deadline or his contract or if the Rangers had changed their mind on that Cup Clause. Scarlet was still bragging about coming up with that.

Killian had checked him during morning skate.

“She wrote a note,” Emma added, voice barely above a whisper and, oh, he was an idiot. He’d thought, well, he’d thought a lot in the last week and she hadn’t even been upset about commandeering her event and the press for her event, just asked him to take her home and left a toothbrush on his sink like she belonged there.

She did.

He wanted her there. And he didn’t want to even consider another offer that afternoon – had told Regina that more times than he could remember at this point. Probably as often as she’d told him to only talk about the standing in post-game and pre-game and daily media availability.

He’d held up his end of the bargain.

He just hoped she had too.

And he hoped Emma wasn’t bordering somewhere close to terrified because Mrs. Vankald had leapt over the blue line and into the crease and was probably standing on top of the net now, swatting at anyone else who came close with a goalie stick, trying to make sure that this relationshipworked.

“I’ll call her,” Killian muttered, wondering when he’d find five seconds to do that when he was supposed to be at his locker already and on the ice in an hour and a half.

Emma blinked, jerking her head back slightly. “Wait, what?”

“What does the card say?” “That she was thankful for the tickets to Casino Night and getting Liam back on the ice and she really enjoyed the latest episode of Locked In. She called it that by the way, so she’s obviously listening to you because you’re the one who started a nickname for a fake show.” “Don’t let Locksley hear you call it fake,” he cut in, some of his nerves forgotten as soon as Emma’s eyes met his.

He wasn’t just clingy. He was far too emotional for his own good.

Maybe he’d get a few penalty minutes that afternoon too. Just to work out some of that residual emotion.

“Strangely enough, Robin Locksley isn’t FaceTiming me an hour and a half before he’s supposed to get on the ice,” Emma said knowingly, eyebrows lifting slightly. It didn’t sound like an accusation. It didn’t really have to.

Killian sank onto the ground, legs stretched out unceremoniously in front of him as he held his phone loosely in his hand. “Yeah, that’d probably be weird,” he admitted.

“Probably.” “They are nice flowers.” “Made my whole office smell like a garden instead of game-worn jerseys we’re going to sell.” “Why didn’t Kristoff take those?” Emma rolled her eyes and her chair creaked when she moved. “Because he’s got a million and one other things to deal with, especially if you guys get someone or several new someones later on today.” “Or lose someone.” It was like Emma had been waiting for it, eyebrows moving up her forehead slowly and with as much meaning as that almost accusation from a few minutes before. “Is that why you’re hiding in the corner, then?”

“No one is hiding.” “Alright,” she amended. That piece of hair would be the death of him. “No hiding. Is that why you’re mad about me getting flowers from Mrs. Vankald and threatening to call her?” “I probably should call her,” Killian admitted. They’d been at the charity game – several clichés exchanged via text messages about Liam getting back to the top of the hockey mountain and Killian had only half listened, that obnoxious little voice in the back of his head that liked to remind him how guilty he should feel at all times, rearing its head as soon as his brother laced up his skates.

Liam stayed at the brownstone and took them to dinner the day after the game and Killian had come up with several almost plausible excuses as to why he didn’t go. The Vankalds believed him. Liam didn’t.

Liam just nodded slowly, eyes bright and a very specific look on his face and he told Killian to say bye to Emma before he got in a cab and a flight back to Colorado.

He wished he’d won that charity game.

And not stolen Emma’s thunder.

The uncertainty of it all was, he was convinced, slowly driving him crazy.

“Hey,” Emma said softly, shaking him out of his own thoughts and that was probably for the best. “We agreed. No guilt circle.” She smiled and the voice in the back of his head quieted just a little. And, not for the first time, he wished she’d been able to come on the road trip.

Most of the front office had. Ruby was probably, at that very moment, trying to track him down and even Zelena had flown out to Minnesota on the off chance that they signed someone new. It didn’t feel like an off chance.

“There’s no circle, love,” Killian lied.

Emma laughed again, swinging her legs off her desk and nearly knocking off another stack of papers. “Sure. You always look like that then.” “Devilishly handsome.” “Jeez,” she sighed, shaking her head, but she didn’t actually object. That felt a bit like a victory. “Come on, fess up. What’s wrong?” There shouldn’t have been anything wrong.

It was deadline day, but that didn’t really mean anything to him. Or it shouldn’t. Because Killian knew Regina’s phone battery was almost always somewhere in the realm of critically low – she’d started carrying one of those portable charger things in her pocket now and Scarlet made a robot joke a few days ago that earned him several checks from Robin.

He wasn’t going anywhere, despite the rumors or the lack of rumors or however many calls Regina’s phone battery had to deal with.

And that was as terrifying as it was exciting and very, very permanent.

“Did someone else offer?” Emma asked and Killian would have been impressed if he weren’t so goddamn emotional. “You don’t think front office is going to do something stupid, do you? They wouldn’t do that.” “No, no, there’s no trade in my last deal. I don’t leave unless I want to leave.”

“And you don’t want to? Leave?” He snapped his head up so quickly he was worried he’d done permanent damage to his neck. Emma’s eyes kept darting between the flowers and the phone. “No, Swan,” Killian promised, doing his best to infuse two words with some kind of everything. “I’m good as is.” Good, better, perfect, slightly petrified that the flowers sitting on her desk meant more than two dozen red roses had ever meant in the history of the entire world.

“Good,” Emma said. “That makes two of us. And maybe I should get in on this phone call with Mrs. Vankald at some point.”

His neck was going to snap in half. It shouldn’t make that sound. And he shouldn’t have moved it that quickly, eyebrows practically ceiling-bound while the blush crept up Emma’s cheeks several hundred miles away.

“God damnit, Jones,” Ruby shouted at the far end of the hallway. She had her arms crossed and she must have been taking murder glare lessons from Regina because the resemblance was almost uncanny.

“Uh oh, someone’s secret hiding spot has been found out,” Emma mumbled. She was still blushing. Killian rolled his eyes.

“What do you need, Lucas?” he asked. The glare got more intense. He’d run out of wall space to slink into.

“You were supposed to be in front of your locker half an hour ago,” Ruby hissed, kicking at his outstretched leg like that had personally offended her as well.

Emma made a noise on the phone and Killian tried not to groan when Ruby yanked it out of his hands. “Is this your fault?” she demanded, but her voice lacked some of its bite when she started to talking to Emma.

“Nope,” Emma answered. “I’ve got a ton of stuff to do over here, man'ing home base as it were. We’re supposed to be preparing for whoever we get. I’ve got e-mail templates set with introducing fill in the blank ready to be sent to every season-ticket in the system.” “Efficient.” “Sometimes I’m good at my job.” “All the time,” Killian mumbled and Ruby scoffed.

“She already got your flowers Jones,” Ruby said. “No need to try and woo her anymore.” Emma’s face must have done something because Ruby’s eyes narrowed when neither one of them laughed appropriately at her joke. “What? Who are the flowers from?” “Mrs. Vankald,” Emma answered.

He was getting a headache. He was absolutely going to punch someone later. Roland would probably be the only one who enjoyed it.

Ruby’s mouth fell open slightly and Emma was pacing now – he could hear her footsteps on the video. “Isn’t that your mom?” Ruby asked, the soul of tact.

Killian made a noise, twisting his neck slightly. “It’s easier that way, I guess.” Ruby nodded – like she’d just found the last piece in a 500-piece puzzle – and Killian held his hand out expectantly for his phone. She didn’t give it to him. “You’ll both appreciate this a bit then,” she continued, tossing the newspaper Killian hadn’t noticed she was holding into his lap.

Another story.

Fuck.

He picked up that morning’s edition of The Post, flipping it over to the back out of instinct. “No, no, no,” Ruby corrected. “Right smack dab in the middle.” Killian’s eyes widened and the headache had moved down his neck and in between his shoulders and it felt almost palpable in the grip he had on the paper. “What’s going on?” Emma asked.

“You see the Post today, Em?”

“Nuh uh, I’ve been kind of busy.” “Convenient.” “Stop it, Lucas,” Killian muttered, trying to keep the headache out of his voice. She mimed zipping her mouth shut, leaning up against the wall and kicking at his leg again.

It took hours to get to the middle of The New York Post – or it felt that way – each page adding another pang to the headache he was certain he’d never get rid of. Killian couldn’t remember the last time he’d read anything except the final ten pages of The Post and he wasn’t exactly certain where Page Six was.

“Page thirty-four,” Ruby said, sounding like she was handing out some sort of entertainment-journalism death sentence.

Killian’s glance flitted back up to her and her crossed arms and the slightly triumphant smile on her face. Emma was typing now, phone propped up on the vase the flowers had been sent in. “That’s not exactly quiet, Lucas,” Killian said, nearly ripping apart the newspaper in his quest to get to page thirty-four.

“I’m helping.” Killian hummed in the back of his throat and then he couldn’t really make much noise when he, finally, landed on page thirty-four. And Emma had stopped clicking.

Ruby pushed his phone back in front of his face and Emma’s expression wasn’t quite what he expected. It looked the same as when she’d explained the flowers – slightly nervous, slightly hopeful, slightly expectant with a smile that helped his headache ebb just a bit.

“Huh,” Emma said, nodding towards her laptop and the picture Killian assumed matched up with the one in his hands.

It was them. Of course it was them. At the charity game with his arm around her shoulders and his lips pressed up against her temple and they both looked so goddamn happy Killian couldn’t quite believe the caption claimed that guy was him.

Huh seemed about the best response.

“Oh, did you read the caption?” Emma continued and he didn’t expect the trace of laughter in her question.

“No,” Killian said. He’d been too busy staring at his own picture like it was the first time it had happened.

“Uh, well, Page Six seems to be under the impression I’m the reason you want to stay in New York.“ “They’re not wrong,” Ruby added, finally sitting down next to Killian. Emma groaned and Killian knocked his shoulder into Ruby’s. “What? It’s true, isn’t it?” Neither one of them answered.

“On the plus side,” Ruby continued, seemingly not impressed by the conversation. “You both look ridiculously good in this picture. This is like a PR director’s dream. Right, Em? Although maybe ignore the end of the caption.”

Killian’s stomach lurched and if he hadn’t wanted to go to pre-game before, he definitely didn’t now – words like marriage and popping the question and team player jumping out at him. Emma slumped back into her chair, running a hand over her face, but she hadn’t actually stopped smiling.

Huh. Again.

“I mean, it definitely could have been worse,” Emma admitted. “At least they mentioned the game. That might help sell some jerseys.” Killian had lost the ability to speak, stunned silent by the woman on the phone screen he was now, somehow, holding. And somewhere in between noticing the flowers on the corner of Emma’s desk and reading the end of a Page Six caption, he might have realized he desperately wanted the end of a Page Six caption.

Clingy. Needy. Selfish.

They should put that next to his pre-game introduction. He needed deadline day to be over. He needed this season to be over.

He needed to win a goddamn Stanley Cup.

“Exactly,” Ruby said, snapping her teeth on the word. “And, just think, now you guys don’t have to pretend at all anymore, which is disappointing for the rest of us because watching you two try and interact in a public space while also trying to pretend not to be absolutely disgustingly adorable was pretty entertaining.” “Was there a compliment in there at all?” Emma asked.

“Probably not.” Ruby clapped Killian on the knee, making him jerk back and he cringed when he hit his head against the wall. “Jumpy, huh? Come on, Cap, you missed pre, but you probably shouldn’t miss warmups either. Then Arthur will want to kill you too.” Ruby moved before he could answer, waving at Emma who smiled in return, seeming untroubled by a Page Six photo that had him frozen to the ground.

“Tell me a fact,” Emma said as soon as Ruby’s heels stopped echoing in the abandoned hallway. He hadn’t gotten up yet.

“What?” “A fact. About Minnesota.” “Well, technically, it’d be about St. Paul.” “I’d be more impressed with two.” “I’ve only got one.” Emma’s smile got wider. “I’ll take one.” He took a deep breath and the headache wasn’t quite as bad anymore. “St. Paul has more shoreline along the Mississippi River than any other city in the United States and was formerly known as Pig’s Eye or Pig’s Eye Landing.” “You made that last one up!”

“I promise, Swan, I did not. This used to be a gangster hot bed too.” She laughed loudly, head thrown back and that one piece of hair fell across her entire face. Killian finally stood up. “Ok, come on, that can’t possibly be true. I lived in Minnesota. There have never been any gangsters in Minnesota.” “How do you think they moved alcohol around during prohibition? We’ve already discussed the river.” “You’re making that up,” Emma said again, shaking her head and her hair and Killian’s heart felt like it expanded four sizes. At least.

“There is a museum.” “No!” “I’ve been,” Killian groaned, memories of that second-season trip flitting through his memory. “Next road trip, we’ll go.” Emma’s eyes widened and his impossibly large heart stuttered. Maybe he’d been reading this all wrong. “Yeah?” she asked softly.

“Yeah.” “The eye in the Wild’s logo is supposed to look like a Star. It’s an homage to the North Stars.” “I didn’t know that.” “I figured.” Killian laughed and, well, maybe the flowers weren’t that bad. Maybe Mrs. Vankald knew exactly what she was doing. He really should call her.

“You really ok, though?” Emma asked. “You must have missed pre-game.” “Oh, I totally missed pre-game. Regina is probably plotting my murder as we speak.” “Ah, I don’t know. Weren’t you only supposed to talk about the standings? I don’t think anybody wanted to talk about that.” “Hence why we’re here.” “I figured,” she repeated. Her eyes darted up when there was a knock on her door, distracted for half a moment before her smile got even wider. “Yeah, yeah, come on in guys. We’ve got a ton of jerseys to go through.” “Sorry,” Merida said, just out of frame. “I didn’t think you’d be…”

“No, no, it’s fine.” “Swan?” Killian asked, tilting his head like that would make it easier to see into her office.

The response he got wasn’t quite who he expected. “Hey, Killian,” Henry shouted, nearly pushing Emma’s chair out of the way in excitement. “Shouldn’t you be on the ice?” “Have you been talking to Regina?” “What?” Emma sighed, sneaking back into the corner of the frame. “Go get on the ice, Jones. We’ve got jerseys to organize and e-mail templates to send out and stuff to do.” “Stuff?” “Lots of stuff.” “Tons,” Henry added and Killian got the distinct impression he was missing something. “A whole schedule. I even made a to-do-list for Emma’s to-do-list.” “Ok, kid,” Emma muttered, nodding towards Merida again. “You’ve efficiently proved how much stuff we have to do. Why don’t you help Mer put some jerseys and merch in boxes, ok?” He ran off as quickly as he had run in, a flash of brown hair and twelve-year-old determination and he’d been spending as much time at the Garden in the last few weeks as Killian had. And he worked there.

He was still missing something.

“I’ll call you after the game?” Killian asked and Emma nodded almost immediately.

“Yeah, that’s cool.” “You alright, Swan? You’ve gone all red.” “I have not.”

“I can see your face, love. Come on, what’s going on?” “Nothing.” “Swan.” “Nothing,” Emma repeated, gasping slightly when it sounded like a small mountain of merchandise had fallen over in the corner. “I’ve got to go and I’m not all that interested in hearing about Regina murdering you later, so you should probably get on the ice. I’ll talk to you later.” It didn’t feel quite right, her voice picking up the longer they were on the phone and her face was nearly scarlet. “Ok,” Killian said slowly.

“I love you.” He shouldn’t have been worried about anything. His heart felt five sizes too big now. “I love you too, Swan.” “Go score some goals.”

He scored two goals.

He’d probably brag about the second one for the rest of his life. He knew it was going in before he’d actually taken the shot, stick-handling into the zone and past a defender and the guy in front of him might have actually fallen over at some point.

Killian didn’t notice. He was too busy scoring goals. Twice.

They won and he smiled when he was named third star – certain Emma was probably grumbling over that in her office a few hundred miles away – and that just made him smile even more, walking back into the locker room and the media scrum without even an ounce of the nerves that sent him into the hallway before.

“Cap! Cap! Killian! Anything about the rumors?” Killian didn’t even sigh at the questions – he was on a roll. Mrs. Vankald had sent Emma flowers and Emma wanted to call and thank her.

“I’m not talking about that,” Killian said, certain they were asking about Page Six and those last few words in that one particular part of the caption. “Come on guys, you’ve got to at least let me get to the locker.” The scrum started to mumble, but they did actually move, giving up a few inches of space in front of his locker. He never made it.

“Nope,” Regina snapped, grabbing a fist-full of jersey that must have been almost disgusting. He’d just spent several hours on the ice. The scrum actually groaned. They stopped as soon as Regina turned on them. “Go talk to Scarlet,” she directed, nodding towards the defenseman and his very silent locker.

“His contract isn’t up yet,” a reporter argued. Regina narrowed her eyes. The reporter practically sprinted towards Scarlet’s locker.

“You’re not supposed to be back here, Gina,” Killian mumbled, already aware he was wasting his breath. And then he didn’t have much breath in him at all, stunned by the sudden appearance of Roland on his side. “Jeez, mate,” he laughed, somehow managing to balance on his skates as he grabbed Roland around the waist. “Warn a man first.” “Sorry, Hook,” Roland chirped and Killian shook his head. “Gina says we have to talk to you.” “That so?” Roland nodded enthusiastically, chin hitting up against Killian’s shoulder pad. “Yup. Dad’s out in the hallway waiting for us.” “Of course he is.” “Don’t do that,” Regina said, already halfway out the locker room door. “And don’t try and get information out of Rol either, he’s already been told not to say anything in here around these leeches.”

Killian pushed his heels into his skates, ready, and somewhat willing, to stage a standoff in the the doorway – but Roland knocked on his back, a silent command to keep walking and, well, he was a bit of a pushover.

Robin was leaning up against the far wall a few feet away from the door – somehow already out of skates and they were both probably going to get fined if they missed post. Regina would glare even more at that.

It wasn’t good for the image.

Ariel was twisting the ends of her hair around one of her fingers.

“Come on, come on, come on,” Regina muttered, tapping her foot for emphasis.

“Gina I am, literally, holding your kid while trying not to trip over my own skates. Give me two seconds.” “You don’t have two seconds.” “He’s got at least two minutes,” Robin muttered and there was background noise Killian didn’t expect.

“What is that?” he asked, nodding towards the phone in Robin’s hands.

“God, Locksley, at least hold the thing up,” Liam sighed, “you’re giving Elsa vertigo over here.” Killian gripped Roland a little tighter. “Whole platoon, huh?”

“Don’t be like that, KJ,” Elsa said, leaning to her side like that would make Robin lift the phone. “C’mon Robin pull me up, all I can see is KJ’s knees.” Robin did as instructed and Killian did his best not to meet Elsa’s eyes. It probably didn’t matter much – he was certain she knew every deadline worry he’d had since he’d woken up in a Minnesota hotel.

“And we don’t really have time,” Regina cut in, tugging on the front of her jacket.

“A picture of business-like efficiency, Gina,” Killian mumbled. Roland laughed. “Alright, well you’ve called in reinforcements, so something must have happened during the game.” “You scored too many goals,” Liam said.

“Cryptic.” “Good goals though. That second one especially was nuts. The twins have been practicing that move for the last twenty minutes.” Killian smiled and he wasn’t sure if Regina rolled her eyes because of that or because they refused to stick to the unspoken schedule of this conversation.

“Can we focus, please?” Regina snapped. Roland stopped moving at that. Smart kid. “Time?” “2:54,” Robin answered immediately.

“Are we all just staring at the clock?” Killian asked. “What’s going on?” Elsa sighed. He totally knew what was going on. The deadline went official in six minutes. “And that two-minute time limit was a complete lie,” he added, smirking at Gina.

It didn’t work.

“They offered again,” Regina said.

“Who?” Several different variations of his name were shouted at once and even Roland muttered a soft Hook against the back of his jersey. He’d never been reprimanded by a seven-year-old, that seemed like some sort of backwards accomplishment.

“Don’t do it, KJ,” Elsa said, finally eye level with him after Robin moved his phone. Liam rested his hand on her shoulder and Killian could dimly make out the sound of the twins in the background, still fine-tuning their stick-handling skills.

“It’s a lot of money,” Robin muttered. “You could probably buy several mountains. And then a ski resort for good measure. You could be king of the mountain.” “Several, apparently,” Killian said.

“At least.” “No,” Elsa half-shouted and there might have been tears in her eyes. “Mom sent her flowers!” “Oh my God,” Killian sighed. “Does everyone know that?” “You should call Mom. Oh! Oh, buy her a new pillow.” “Was that Anna’s idea?” “Maybe.” “Five minutes,” Robin cut in. “Tell him how much it is, Gina.” “I would,” she hissed. “If everyone else would let me do my job.” Liam laughed – and the only reason he didn’t melt under the power of Regina’s glare was because he wasn’t actually in Minnesota. “You called us, Regina. We don’t want him here. He’s already been challenged with death if he takes this trade.”

“That’s not true, KJ,” Elsa added, determined to make sure Killian was wanted and not facing the guillotine at some point in his immediate future. “We, just, you know, think you should stay in New York. For reasons.” “You’re not good at this lying thing, El,” he laughed before groaning at a well-placed foot in his side. “Rol, you can’t keep kicking me, mate.” Regina tugged on the back of Roland’s jersey, something that didn’t quite look like agent crossing over her features. It didn’t last long. “I called you to make sure that all the important people in Killian’s life are here when he makes some sort of life-changing decision.”

She took another deep breath and pushed her phone towards him, hardly even waiting for him to readjust the kid draped over his shoulder.

There were a lot of zeroes. More zeroes than he’d probably ever see in New York. He could absolutely buy several mountains.

“Fuck,” Killian muttered. The entire room clicked their tongue in unison – Roland didn’t even notice. At least not that part.

“Hey,” he said, kicking against Killian’s chest pad.

“What, mate?”

“If everyone important is here, where’s Emma?” No one clicked their tongue at that. Killian might have laughed. Or possibly guffawed. Maybe this was all a dream.

“Smart kid,” Elsa muttered from Colorado. “Don’t do it, KJ.” “It’s a lot of zeroes,” Robin countered. Elsa huffed.

“That’s true,” Killian admitted. His mouth felt dry and Roland felt like he weighed somewhere in the vicinity of eight-hundred pounds. “I might need extra PT after this, Red.” Ariel nodded. “Sure, Cap.” “Ok, but seriously, two minutes now,” Robin said as Regina’s phone started to ring in the middle of the hallway.

Nothing had ever been as loud as that phone in the middle of the hallway.

“How long, Gina?” Killian asked.

“Four years. All those zeroes.” He let out a low whistle and tried not to drop Roland on his head. Those numbers didn’t make sense together. “The headlines would probably say something like unprecedented,” Robin muttered.

Liam hummed in agreement and it sounded like Elsa smacked him.

“They’re pretty serious,” Regina added, as if those numbers didn’t prove just that. “They were under the impression so were you.” The room was spinning. He needed to find a wall. He needed to find some ice and skate out some of this pesky emotion. “That’s it?” Killian asked. “Nothing closer?”

“Closer to Emma?” “We don’t have time for this, Gina.”

She couldn’t argue that. Her phone started ringing again. “No,” Regina answered and he didn’t realize two letters could ever hold so much disappointment. “Nothing. The Stars dropped off when they realized you didn’t really care. The rest of them all ran away as soon as that story came out in LA.” Killian’s eyes darted towards Elsa out of instinct. She was resting her chin on Liam’s shoulder, standing up now with one hand on her stomach.

She absolutely knew.

Elsa shook her head slightly.

“No,” Killian said. No one had actually asked him a question.

“No,” Regina repeated. It wasn’t a question either.

“I’m not going. Tell them thanks, but no thanks. Make it nicer than that though, that was a lot of zeroes.” “I can do that.” She swiped her thumb over the front of her phone – like that proved that – and wandered to the far end of the hallway, muttering words under her breath that didn’t quite sound like the apology and refusal Killian had requested.

“She’s going to completely ruin my reputation,” Killian sighed, shifting Roland as he tried to back up towards the wall behind him.

“Whatever’s left of it,” Liam laughed and Elsa hit his shoulder again.

“Shut up, Liam,” Ariel snapped and there were tears on her cheeks. “This is good. Really good. And probably the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen.” “Sap.”  She sniffled in response. “It’s alright, Red,” Killian said. “You can go back to being your slightly frustrated with me self tomorrow afternoon.” “Yeah, that sounds like a plan.”

Ariel nearly knocked him over when she launched herself at his chest and Killian was happy he’d actually managed to find the wall, arm wrapped around her waist to make sure he didn’t collapse in a heap with a seven-year-old on top of him.

“We’re never going to talk about this moment ever again, alright?” Ariel asked, voice muffled with her face pressed up against the ‘C’ on his chest.

Killian laughed in response, kissing the top of her head as Roland squirmed over both of them. “Yeah, that sounds like a plan,” he repeated.

Elsa was crying now too – sniffles finding their way into the hallway from Colorado – and Liam had worked her back into a chair, something aboutexerting yourself on the tip of his tongue. Robin just looked passably amused – and a bit proud.

“Did he decide?” Will shouted, leaning into the hallway from the still-open locker room door. “Because I can’t hold off this crowd much longer.” Killian lifted one eyebrow, pulling back slightly to stare at Ariel. “So we might have come up with a plan,” she admitted.

“A plan?”

“Yeah, like, right before the game. While you were on the phone with Emma.” He couldn’t even bring himself to be mad. He waited for it – waited for the telltale signs of frustration and annoyance and interference over this stupid team that wanted to push itself into the middle of Killian’s entire life.

It never got there.

Probably because it had never been there to begin with. They all just cared.

He wished Emma was there.

“Is Emma coming later?” Roland asked, pushing up on Killian’s shoulder. He shimmied down back to the floor, helped along by Ariel who had finally stopped crying, and looked up at Killian with something that felt a bit similar to the want he’d been dealing with all day.

“Nah, mate,” Killian sighed. “She’s home.”

Robin’s eyebrows moved at that, ears almost noticeably pricking up and he glanced at the phone in his hand. Elsa was never going to stop crying.

“You doing ok there, El?” Killian asked and he wasn’t fooling anyone in that hallway. They all knew he wanted Emma Swan in Minnesota and there after games and in some sort of last few words of a Page Six photo caption kind of way.

“Fine, fine,” she promised, brushing her knuckles underneath her eyes. “Go do post before you all get fined.” “See, that’s what I’m talking about,” Will yelled.

“How could you even hear that?” Killian asked. Will shrugged. “It’s going to be fine, El,” he added, looking back down on the screen. Liam was doing that proud thing with his face again.

“Of course it is,” she said. She sounded a bit surprised that he’d ever thought any differently.

“You sure, Cap?” Robin asked, tugging Roland back to his side.

Killian sighed. He needed to shower before he went to post. “Too late now, isn’t it?” “Yeah. Good.” “Go answer the questions, little brother,” Liam muttered. “You can’t afford the fine anymore.” Killian scoffed – but Liam might be right – and he at least needed to get out of these skates. He was starting to lose feeling in his toes. There was waving and promises of how fine it was going to be and Killian groaned when he remembered he’d left his phone in his locker.

He needed to tell Emma.

“Post first,” Robin said, somehow able to read his mind. “Then you can get all romantic and talk about the flowers Mrs. V sent again.”

Killian opened his mouth, but he didn’t even get the question out and Robin was near hysterics when they walked back into the locker room, pulled apart by a horde of press already screaming questions in his face and pushing cameras half an inch away from his nose.

It took way longer than it should have.

Killian sat in front of that visitor’s locker for nearly twenty minutes, answering every question and promising he was as dedicated to New York as he was the night he got drafted, certain this was the year and, no, he didn’t think it would be a problem to play out of the Wild Card spot.

Ruby eventually took pity on him and pushed the horde away and he actually got a chance to shower, certain the jersey would be better burnt than thrown in the pile in the corner of the locker room, and two-thirds of the Mills-Locksley family was waiting for him outside the arena.

“Come on,” Robin said, nodding towards the car parked behind him. “We’re going out.” “Out?” Killian repeated skeptically. “Your kid looks like he’s going to fall asleep standing up.” “Nah, he’s fine. You’re fine, right, Rol?” Roland nodded enthusiastically, but his eyes weren’t really open and it was nearly six o’clock and they’d all been awake for far too long. Killian hadn’t really slept the night before.

“Where exactly do you want to go?” he asked.

The driver was out of the car now. God, he was opening the doors. Killian glanced to both sides, looking for some kind of escape route or the car that should have been his and should have brought him back to his hotel room so he could FaceTime his girlfriend without an entire hockey team giving input.

“You have absolutely negative amounts of choice in this,” Robin said, nudging Roland into the middle of the back seat. “There’s no point in arguing.” “That sounds kind of menacing.” “It’s not.” “Where’s Gina?” “Getting ready.” “Ready? Are we staging a coup?” Robin sighed dramatically, the put-upon sound making Killian laugh. Maybe this could almost be fun. “No one is staging anything unless it’s dinner and quite a bit of alcohol.” “Does Arthur know?” “Arthur will be there, toasting his captain’s glorious return.” “See, now I know you’re lying. Arthur would never toast my anything. He’d just blow his whistle in my face.” “Nope,” Robin said, popping the word on his lips. “C’mon, Cap. No choice. This is happening and I can almost guarantee you’re going to enjoy this.” “Almost.” “Nothing’s a complete guarantee.”

Killian groaned, rolling his head back, but he didn’t argue anymore and he didn’t even slam the car door shut behind him.

This great, big outing that Killian was almost certain to enjoy was, apparently, a sports bar on the other side of St. Paul. There were plastic flags hanging on the awning outside. This sports bar, apparently, prided itself on its Minnesota Vikings fandom.

“Seriously?” Killian asked.

Robin was already halfway to the door. “Get out of the car, Cap.” Killian did as instructed, one hand on Roland’s shoulder as he walked across the snow-covered sidewalk and it was colder here than it had been in New York. That snow probably wouldn’t melt until June.

“I’m staying an hour, tops,” Killian said and Robin nodded, humming in the back of his throat. He was being coddled. He didn’t appreciate being coddled.

He’d turned down several zeroes and a monarchy made up entirely of mountains. He deserved one drink and a full night of sleep and the chance to get out of St. Paul as soon as humanly possible.  

The inside of the bar wasn’t much better, a mix of Budweiser signs and the faint smell of spilled alcohol that never quite got cleaned up off the floor and even more plastic flags. Those ones touted the Twins.

“Not exactly the high point of restaurants is it?” Killian asked, glancing at Robin out of the corner of his eye. Only he didn’t just see Robin.

She wasn’t wearing team merch or his numbers and her hair was still in the ponytail it had been that morning, that one piece falling across her forehead when she spun on the spot. And Killian knew his mouth dropped open, knew half of the entire New York Rangers roster and front office was staring straight at him, jam-packed into that crummy little sports bar.

He didn’t care.

He might have breathed out her name and Ariel might have started sniffling again, pushing against his back to try and get him to move. He didn’t have to.

Emma moved first.

She hit up against his chest, hands on either side of his face and lips on his and they could have been in the middle of Times Square and Killian wouldn’t have noticed anything except her. He wouldn't have cared about anything but her.

He kissed her back, arms around her waist out of instinct and he’d half lifted her up before he remembered how heavy Roland had been in that hallway. Emma’s heels popped out of her flats and her fingers carded through his hair and across the back of his neck and someone actually whistled when they didn’t break apart in an entirely appropriate amount of time.

It was probably Scarlet.

“Hey,” Emma whispered, resting her forehead on his.

“Hey.” Will groaned. “God, what a let down. And she planned this whole thing, Cap.” “Wait, what?” Killian asked. His hands wouldn’t stop moving. They kept tracing up and down her side and across her back and he, finally, pushed that piece of hair back behind her ears.

Emma rolled her eyes, shooting a glare at Will for good measure. “That’s not really true. Regina and Ariel found the restaurant. They just told me where to go once I told them I was coming.” “But, no, how?” She smiled when he started stuttering over the words, lips brushing over his and now he really wanted to leave this sports bar. “They have these newfangled things called planes. I got on one this afternoon and it brought me to Minnesota. In barely enough time, but that’s a whole other story.” “No, I understand how aviation works, Swan. But I talked to you today. You were in your office. Putting jerseys in boxes.” “That’s true. I did that.” “So how are you here?” “I feel like we’re going in circles.” Emma blinked once, lips pressed together thoughtfully and her eyes fell down to her shoes. “Is it ok that I’m here?” she whispered. “I didn’t...I didn’t really ask. I just kind of figured…”

He kissed her quiet. And it was completely inappropriate and made for Page Six and those words he thought about every time his stick hit the puck that afternoon.

“Of course it’s fine, Swan,” Killian said. “Better.”

“It’s just deadline day,” she mumbled as if that explained why she’d gotten on a plan that morning. It kind of did.

“I’m so glad you’re here.” They weren’t the focus of the entire restaurant anymore – Robin taking pity on them and shouting something about drinks and darts and celebrating another win – and it was loud and crowded and all Killian saw was green and yellow and that striped shirt she was wearing.

“Figured it might be better than just a face on a screen,” Emma said.

“Infinitely. You really got on a plane though? How come you didn’t tell me?” “It was supposed to be a surprise. I thought we were done for as soon as Mer and Henry got there. He’s known about it for days.” “You were planning this for days?” His heart was seven sizes too big now. He’d skipped over size six entirely.

Emma nodded, fingers tracing over a vein in his neck. “Reese’s had to get her credit card points to go through.”

He didn’t say anything for what felt like an eternity, couldn’t come up with a single word or thought or anything that wasn’t how ridiculously in love he was with Emma Swan. It’d probably fuel the entire playoff run.

“Mary Margaret did that?” Killian asked and Emma smiled in response. “I’ll have to thank her.” “She offered.” “That’s even nicer.” “She’s super psyched you’re my plus-one too. I think her exact words were over the moon. She’s been waiting for this moment since August.” “Shame we kept her waiting that long.” Emma laughed softly, burrowing her forehead against his shoulder and if he hugged her any tighter he’d probably crush something. “I know we said we’d do that whole gangster museum thing when we were both in St. Paul, but do you think we could save that one for the next road trip? I’d really be interested in seeing your hotel room.” “That so?” he asked, lifting one eyebrow and she rolled her eyes at the smirk. It had never worked to begin with.

“I promised we’d stay an hour. At most. Mostly to shut up Scarlet.” “Forget Scarlet, let’s just go now.” “Enthused, huh?” “Anxious. Needy. Somewhere close to desperately needing to kiss you.” “You did that already,” Emma pointed out, tapping one finger on the front of his league-mandated tie. “Twice.” “It’s a very strong need.”

She smiled and it landed in his heart and his very center and maybe his soul. Turning more zeroes than he’d seen in his life had, apparently, turned him into a complete sap.

“Forty-five minutes,” she said, pressing up to mumble the words against his lips. “And then the room.”

They stayed for thirty-eight minutes – and Killian wouldn’t say they were staring at their phones, watching the minutes go by, but he wouldn’t have passed a lie-detector test if asked the same question. They were, by far, the longest thirty-eight minutes of his life.

Or maybe that was the car ride back to the hotel. Or the elevator or the walk down the hallway and he hoped Robin wasn’t a complete fool and stayed with Regina and Roland later because he might be acting like a teenager, but Killian drew the line at hanging a sock on the door.

He stopped caring about the time once Emma’s hands started tugging on his tie and making their way down the line of buttons on his shirt and Killian had absolutely no idea where his phone was several hours later.

The sheets were a twisted up mess and Emma’s leg was, somehow, in between his, Killian’s arm thrown haphazardly around her waist with his face pressed against her hair. It was the most comfortable he’d been all day.

“I wanted to come because I didn’t want you to be by yourself,” Emma said, voice slicing through the silence of the room.

Killian smiled against her hair, leaving kisses he wasn’t entirely certain she could feel as his fingers traced across her stomach. “I haven’t felt alone in quite some time, love,” he said softly.

“Good.” She took a deep breath and he knew she’d scrunched her nose against the pillow she was laying on. “Me either.” “Good.”

It wasn’t enough. Not by a longshot. But there weren't enough words and he couldn’t think of any other words and winning a Stanley Cup would have to do.

“You told them no, didn’t you?” “I thought you’d fallen asleep.” “With a whole night ahead and this grand romantic gesture?” Emma asked. “Hardly.” She turned around, twisting underneath his hand and they should probably just move the sheets at this point. They were a hazard. “You did, didn’t you?” “Did what, Swan?” “Told the Avs no.”

He breathed in far more oxygen than he needed, closing his eyes lightly and Emma’s hand rested on his chest, thumb tracing across the line of his collarbone. And all he saw was the Page Six caption and what he wanted and the hopeful expression that had been on her face every time she looked at him.

“Yeah,” Killian said. No more secrets. “I did.” Emma bit her lip, thumb tapping on his skin. “You gave up…” “Nothing,” he interrupted. “I didn’t give up anything at all. Everything I want is here. No matter what.” Emma’s shoulders sagged and the breath seemed to rush out of her. “Ok,” she whispered. “And I’m glad I’m here too. I didn’t say that before.”

“I love you,” Killian said evenly. Ah, there were the words.

“I love you too.”

He nodded and it was as if everything just settled, falling into place and finding its spot and, of course, it happened in goddamn Minnesota.

“So what happens now?” Emma asked, voice still impossibly quiet.

Killian shifted, pressing against her and he kissed her once before he answered, trying to pour every single verb he could think of into one single movement. “Now, Swan, we go win a Cup.”

#cs ff #captain swan ff #ouat ff #cs #csbb #blue line #there are more team feelings here because i am nothing if not constant trash for sports families #and will scarlet is getting real good at playing distraction

[dizzydancingdreamer]

“Corn Syrup, Like in Carrie” | The Mikaelson Boys

Hey my lovelies this is my fic for @hellotvshowtrash​ ‘s March Prompt Challenge— I hope you all enjoy and especially you, Ash! I literally wrote this in a few hours so I hope it isn’t terrible; I wanted to make sure I actually submitted this month though because you put a lot of hard work into making fun things for us. I haven’t written for these boys in a while so this was nice :)

Description: Y/n drags Kol into a plan that is more dumb luck than actual planning— is it even a question that he would be willing to help?

Pairing: The Mikaelson Boys x Female!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of blood and death but in a casual, funny way (sadistic but funny), this might be the grungiest thing I’ve written to date

Word count: 1.99k (it’s literally 1999k, I pushed this as far as possible)

Tags: Fluff, a lil angst if you squint (squint is used loosely here)

Prompt: “This plan of yours is going to get us killed. Of course I’m in.”

Kudos if you get the picture easter egg!

“You want to do what now?”

She huffs but the wicked smile on her face carves through the annoyance— of course she isn’t actually exasperated with him.

“You heard me Kol— I want to scare him!”

The brown eyed vamp rolls his eyes but his own grin is just as cunning. She can see the spark in his eyes, that little glint that lets her know everything she needs to know— lets her know that he’s in.

All in.

“You know that’s impossible darling,” he toys, his smirk too coy for a man over a thousand years old. “Klaus doesn’t get scared.”

She laughs— that’s what he thinks.

Kol’s brows push together, the glint growing alongside his smile, his sharp teeth poking into his lip. “I know that look— that look is never good.”

She meets him where he leans against the countertop, hopping up beside him and wrapping her arms around his cool shoulders. “Oh it’s good alright, Kol-y. I think you’ll like it very much.”

He turns towards her, running his nose across her jaw, peppering a few kisses against her skin before tilting his face up. “Well out with it then, darling— what’s the plan?”

She giggles, pressing her lips against his quickly before pulling back, pecking the vampire’s nose when he scrunches it. She shakes her head at his puppy dog eyes— easily distracted, that one is.

She leans down, whispering her idea into his ear, her chest blossoming with warmth when he shivers against her lips. She can’t tell if it’s because of how close she is or because he likes her plan— both, most likely. When she finishes speaking she nips his ear, tugging gently before releasing him. He groans when his ear meets the cool kitchen air, twisting to push between her legs.

He leans down, pressing his lips against her again. She can taste the mischief on his lips, tangy and sharp— someone has been eating blackberries again.

“You’re a menace darling.”

“Hmm—” she hums her agreement against his berry lips— “I learned from the best.”

He chuckles and this time she shivers, his lips trailing down her neck. “Is that so?”

She pushes against his chest, trying to regain some of his attention. This is important. She slips her fingers into his soft hair, knitting them between the strands and tugging until his baby browns meet her gaze. He sighs, his smile less menacing and more longing than moments ago. He raises his brow, his eyes flitting to her neck before going back to her eyes— are you going to speak or can I go back to what I was doing?

She huffs.

“Are you in or not, Mikaelson?” She grinds out as he tugs against her hand, just barely nipping at her sensitive skin.

He groans when she pulls her throat away from his ministrations, finally standing straight again. His hands slide up the sides of her neck, smoothing against her jaw, fingers hooking behind her ears.

“This plan of yours is going to get us killed, darling.” His soft grin sharpens as he speaks, the glint resurfacing in his eyes. To her it makes him look beautiful. It makes him look dangerous. “Of course I’m in.”

** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** **

“Alright,” Kol announces, his cheerful voice drifting from the entrance to the compound to where she lays in a heap next to the couch. “He’s coming down the street now— I can hear him on the phone. I think he’s talking to Elijah.”

She can’t see the vamp but she knows that the mirth in his voice is much too extensive considering what they are about to do. Oh well. She raises a hand— she can’t speak with the blonde who’s now on their street hearing— signalling for him to get into place—

—and for him to dump the bucket of corn syrup, red dye number five, and just enough of her blood to make it smell real all over her body.

It goes on warm and sticky, scarily similar to actual blood, drenching the t-shirt she has decided to sacrifice. It’s for a good cause, she has to remind herself. Her skin itches where the mixture clings to her and she has to keep from giggling, her shoulders shaking. This had better work.

Kol’s boot nudges against her butt, tsking as she swallows another giggle. “Get with it darling— he’s almost here.”

She nods, splaying her limbs out in a way she imagines a dead— or almost dead— body would look. She doesn’t have to imagine too hard.

“Good job,” Kol whispers. “Billy Loomis would be proud.”

She smiles quickly at the reference— part of her plan was making him watch Scream with her.

“He’s here— let’s do this—“

The end of his sentence is cut off by a yell— his yell. They have to cover the sound of her heartbeat somehow. She can only keep her heart so steady and she’s not trying to give herself away before the fun has really begun. Thank heaven Kol has a good pair of lungs— and that he doesn’t need to breathe.

“Yeah I just go ba— Kol?” Like with Kol, she can’t see Klaus but she can hear him and the way his voice falters in confusion.

“Brother—” the way Kol’s voice hitches at the end of the word makes her almost break character. Someone sign this man up for an Oscar immediately— “I don’t know what happened. I left to get some of that ice cream she’s always talking about and— and—”

Klaus doesn’t speak but over Kol’s scarily astute acting she can hear commotion on the other end of his cellphone. Elijah— jackpot.

A double prank.

“Elijah give me a minute— Kol, what happened?”

Klaus’ heavy boots thunk against the concrete, the vibrations radiating through her cheek where it presses against the ground. His steps are almost as thundering as his voice, both echoing through the open space.

Kol plays along with his brother’s anger, matching it with his own. “I just said I don’t know!”

“What do you mean you don’t know! Look at her and tell me what you see—” his words stop, the air punctuated by a loud crack, no doubt the sound of his Iphone shattering into a hundred pieces.

Oops.

Suddenly there are hands on her back, nudging her softly, pulling at the sticky fabric of her t-shirt. You’re going to have to do better than that to wake the dead, babe. His hands get steadily more frantic— and more slimy— dragging the blood concoction into her hair as he checks her scalp and neck for injury. She holds her breath as his hand wraps around her jaw, lifting her face gently.

“Fuck, Kol, why is she bleeding so much?”

Kol only screeches in answer— again, she almost loses it. Klaus must not like that answer very much because he curses under his breath. Well, under his breath is a relative term. She is sure the entirety of Bourbon street hears the F-bomb he drops. The word is accompanied by the sound of her shirt being ripped in two. Here we go.

She feels a whoosh of air against her now revealed skin, steeling against the shiver that creeps up her spine at the cold air. Soon there is another pair of hands on her, sliding down her slick arms. She can picture the dyed corn syrup staining Elijah's dress shirt and the glare in his dark eyes when he realizes she has teamed up with his brother to wreak mayhem.

“What’s going on? What happened?” His sultry voice is worse than the cold air— and much harder to stave off.

“I don’t know—” both Klaus and Kol speak in unison, Klaus taking over for the both of them— “but there isn’t time to find out right now.”

Before she has time to process his words her body is being flipped over, her back pressing into the icy, sticky concrete. It takes all of her strength not to squeal at the contact. She hears a noise much too juicy for her liking before a warm artery is pressed against the seam of her lips. Perfect!

“C’mon love, please—”

When her mouth fills with a thick, metallic substance she breaks, springing forward and coughing wildly, making sure to swallow a good amount before hacking the rest up. She runs an arm across her eyelids, trying to unstick them but only managing to coat her eyelashes even more.

When she finally manages to peel her eyes open, spitting the last of Klaus’ blood out of her mouth, she is met with the faces of two shocked vampires and one vampire who is laughing his ass off. Kol’s laughter is infectious— especially because she’s been holding back giggles since the start of their ruse— and soon she is joining him, laughing so hard she falls backwards again into the goo.

For a moment there is silence— only the sound of her and Kol’s laughter— before it gives way to Klaus’ deathly calm voice. “What the hell is going on here?”

She pushes herself up on an elbow, flashing him a scarlet drenched smile— she would give anything to see her crimson teeth right now. She runs her tongue over them to enhance the point.

“Did I scare you?”

His eyes flash with black. “Did you scare me—”

“Yes, you scared us!” Elijah’s red hands wrap around her forearms, hauling her into his chest without a care for his white shirt. “May I ask why?”

Elijah’s chest shudders, his arms curling around her waist. He wasn’t lying— he’s terrified. He smells like cooking oil and metal but she doesn’t care— he’s too warm for her to mind. His lips press against her forehead and she almost feels bad.

Almost.

A hand wraps around her hair from behind, yanking her back from his brother’s chest. “What Elijah means to say is can we demand why? Why you would try something like that?”

She dips her head further back, squinting up at the furious blonde. “Oh you already know why, love.”

He rolls his eyes, his jaw clenched but leaning down to brush his cheek against hers regardless. “Indulge me anyway.”

She tilts her head, skimming her tacky lips against his stubble. “To make a point.”

“Oh yeah? And what point might that be?”

“That I am fragile—” she pulls upright, turning in Elijah’s arms and dropping the cheshire grin— “that you can’t protect me all the time—” she pushes forward, crawling onto Klaus’ drenched lap— “that I need to be like you.”

He sighs, his forehead dropping against hers, his hands curling around her jaw. “This again?”

Her arms hook around his neck, fingers tangling in his blonde hair. “You know I’m right.”

Klaus’ shoulders slump, his golden eyebrows knitting together. “Does it have to be right now?”

“Your blood is already in my system.”

“You’re going to be the death of me, you know that?”

She smiles back at him, leaning in for what she hopes is one last human kiss. “Shouldn’t I be the one saying that?”

He only sighs, shaking his head as Kol laces his fingers with hers. She turns to the brown eyed vamp just in time to see him pass her a mischievous wink.

It is the last thing she sees before the world around her goes dark.

** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** **

She wakes feeling significantly less sticky than she had when she blacked out— and significantly more hungry. She can’t remember the last time her throat was dry like this. Is she catching a cold? She shifts slightly, her elbow piling into a pillow underneath her. The pillow grunts.

Not a pillow.

Kol rises beside her, pressing a hand to her chest until she falls back against the mattress and then rolling on top of her, sinking his face against her neck. The words he mumbles into her skin make her dead heart stop in the best way.

“I told you that plan would get you killed.”

#March2021PromptChallenge #the mikaelson boys #the mikaelson brothers #the mikaelson boys x reader #the mikaelson brothers x reader #the mikaelsons x reader #Kol mikaelson #kol mikaelson x reader #kol mikaelson x y/n #klaus mikaelson #klaus mikaelson x reader #klaus mikaelson x y/n #elijah mikaelson #elijah mikaelson x reader #elijah mikaelson x y/n #the originals #the originals imagine #to imagine #to #elijah mikaelson imagine #kol mikaelson imagine #klaus mikaelson imagine

[funkymbtifiction]

Some questions about mbti and enneagram

1. Is it possible for sensors to be heads-in-the clouds, neglecting details easily(except the ones they find valuable), coming up with various imaginary scenarios and questions, connections while looking around/engaging with outer stuffs a lot despite being bad at reading between the lines correctly and briefly understanding things that they are not used to? 

I've known core 9 Si-using sensors (ISFJs) who fit this description. Easily distracted, happy go lucky, idealistic and dreamy.

And is it possible for intuitives to take care of their physical needs(taking a shower, brushing a teeth, eating a meal etc) pretty well, have detailed information about the stuffs that they are highly interested in, likes cliches despite having hard seeing the world as it is/being not really good at detailed-job and hands-on stuffs/shows a lot of interest towards theories and fantasies? I know good memory = sensor is wrong though.

Sp-dom intuitives do take excellent care of themselves, yes. The stereotypes of intuitives being oblivious to their bodily needs is coming from sp-blind Enneagram social stackings, for whom those things truly are rare (self-care being at the bottom of their to-do list).

2. Why enneagram 9 characters are almost never villains? I have seen 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8 villains but I have never seen 9 villains(and 9 villains are hard to find in general) so I am curious. And if enneagram 9 character was a villain, what would their motivations and actions be?

I know Norman Bates from Psycho is a 9w1 villain. I'd have to think about it, but I suspect there are many more (not to mention actual real-life murderers who cut up their wife and then calmly phone up their girlfriend and ask when they're getting married, ahem). 9 villains detach and go about their evil deeds in an unemotional manner, never allowing others to affect them in any meaningful way. They are emotionally flat and separate from their victims. And of course, their wing is going to play a role -- Norman has that super-ego 1 wing beating him up for his impure thoughts, an 8 wing would react with violence, or force, or aggression. I also am torn about the Scarlet Witch -- she's either an envious 4 (seems more like that in the new Doctor Strange) or a 9w8 who effs you up for disturbing her peace. And isn't the chick who suppresses her feelings / everything for so long until she starts blowing thing up in The Umbrella Academy sort of a pseudo-villain (a 9w8)?

3. Are you interested in both RHETI and naranjo enneagram? Then can you tell the reasons why do you like them both? If not, which do you prefer and why?

RHETI is a good place to start, but Naranjo goes deeper and cuts you harder if you really want to self-challenge and don't mind seeing the negative side of each types (he was a 5, so there's a negativity slant in a lot of what he says about each type).

4. Do you also like other personality theories (Big5, Hexaco, TCI, Holland etc) outside of mbti and enneagram?

The only one I'm familiar with is Big 5 and it's okay. I've read some about it and use it casually.

5. What are your thoughts on IIEE/EEII stacks? I have seen some people saying "IEIE/EIEI stacks are pure misconceptions and we have to use IIEE/EEII stacks instead in order to be closer to Jung's definitions" and "dominant functions for introverts are pure wrong(Fi doms are actually ISFJ and INFJ, Ni doms are actually INTP and INFP, Ti doms are actually ISTJ and INTJ, Si doms are actually ISFP and ISTP)" so I am curious.

I'm gonna default into FiTe here and say: I don't care, so I have no thoughts. ;) Jung himself thought he was NiTi and no other functions, which by my perspective of functions means he had under-developed Fe in favor of existing only in his mind / seeing people as something to study and 'take apart' to understand them. So I guess I am in the "IEIE" camp. The rest sounds like nonsense.

6. Do you think someone high in openness to experience can be sensor(especially SJs)? Or someone low in openness to experience can be intuitive too? I have heard that openness to experience is highly related to S/N so I got curious.

I know at least five SFJs who are high in openness and who have had a broad range of experiences (one of them worked her way to Europe in the 70s on a tramp steamer, then backpacked through various countries and lived in hostels; she has met more people, lived in more countries, and eaten more varieties of food than I ever will). It bears stating that all of them are 9-cores, most of them 926/927's.

7. Do you have ideas to see clear differences between sexual 5w4, social 4w5, sexual 9w8, sexual 7w6? Since they look pretty similar on the surface to me, I am curious.

If I get stuck, I compare each type to one another using their full profiles and consider which seems to be their main motivation. 5s are less emotional than 4s, and 9s want less excitement than 7s.

#question #mbti #enneagram

[xshinigamikittenx]

The Quiet Game

NSFW Katsuki Bakugou x Fem!Reader

MINORS DNI

You swear this class is going to kill you. With this much of a class load, there’s no time for friendships or romantic relationships, and that’s fine with you. They were just distractions anyway. It’s usually just the attendants and other students completing work studies at the library this late. This is usually perfect on most nights, but today is Friday, and you forgot he would be here...

Thank you SO MUCH to TrashyBee on Twitter for bringing Katsuki to life here. Good lawd 😩

A/N: Whew. Yet another one shot that ran away with me. lmaoooo. Couldn't really help it though, I mean...sheeeeesh. But child, anywaaays...this was fun. :) I'm also hoping you've been to a library and seen what the private study rooms look like, because it's kindof important here 😅 but if not here's an idea. Hope your future library thoughts are full of smut productivity!

9.5k words

CW/TW: semi-public sex, oral sex, clothed sex, vaginal sex, biting, swallowing, light degradation, gagging, fingering, hair pulling, deep thrusts, praise

You swear this class is going to kill you. Why the fuck did you choose to take on so many credits this year? Take more classes at once so you can finish early. The goal from the beginning was to get through university as quickly as possible so you could start making the money you knew would help keep you far away from home. Wealth is not something that runs in your family. Everything you get, you work for, and your degree will be no different. You keep your head down, focusing on one goal, to make enough money to support yourself and live the way you want. With this much of a class load, there’s no time for friendships or romantic relationships, and that’s fine with you. They were just distractions anyway.

Your roommates, however, don’t have that same logic. Some nights when you’re up studying, you can hear them, and whoever they brought back to the dorm moaning, the bed sometimes rhythmically bumping into the paper-thin walls. “Just like that...yes-yes-mmmmore. Ffuck! ” It’s...distracting, to say the least, and frustrating because your body’s reaction constantly betrays your mind's focus. Your thighs clenching together, your pulse quickening; no way in hell you can study in your room, especially not at night.

You shake the thoughts out of your head, looking up at the massive main library, your feet unconsciously moving forward. This is your sanctuary, the place you feel you can be most at peace, and finally give way to the maintained focus you knew you needed. The warm glow of the lights through the windows always makes you feel calm. The cold air whips into you as you push open the door and take in the endless rows and layers of books keeping you company. There’s hardly ever anyone here at this time, a discovery you made one night when you found yourself packing your books in frustration to escape the sounds coming from the next room in the middle of the night.

It’s usually just the attendants and other students completing work studies at the library this semester. This is usually perfect on most nights, but today is Friday, and you forgot he would be here. Your eyes land on his back, surveying him at a distance. The fact that he works here doesn’t quite compute with you. He’s built like he should be throwing a ball somewhere, all broad shoulders and toned arms. The sleeves of his olive green sweater are rolled up, emphasizing the lines and ridges of his toned muscles. It’s borderline irritating how good he looks, entirely focused on a mundane task. His blonde hair is somehow perfectly dishevelled, the lean form of his body bent over the desk, filling out some kind of paperwork while you walk in his direction. Usually, you would try to avoid him; talking to people, in general, is not a specialty of yours, let alone talking to someone who seems to have a short fuse.

You wait for a few seconds, thinking he’s got to know you’re there. He had to have heard the door open, right? But he hasn’t turned around yet, and thinking about actually opening your mouth to speak to him felt like the air was getting sucked out of the building. You were already introverted with high anxiety, and you did not need to feel uncomfortable right now, especially under the looming stress of this project which was due in two days. So you waited, hoping the subtle noises you were making, readjusting your bag, and taking a deep breath, would possibly get his attention. Fuck, this is taking too long; I’ve got to say something. “Um...hey.” Jesus Christ, really couldn’t think of anything better to say? You practically sneer at yourself at how lame you sound, but this certainly got his attention. He turned half of his body towards you, one of his scarlet eyes glaring at you over his shoulder. His face was rather expressionless, betraying the scorching feeling his eyes deliver, making you suddenly self-conscious of what you looked like standing in front of him. You didn’t think about what you were wearing when you left your dorm, throwing on a go-to pair of leggings and the first hoodie you saw before storming out of the overly cramped room, leaving the heavy breaths and moans of your neighbour behind you.

“Oi, you need something? Speak up.” Your face immediately flushed. The heat rising up your neck and blooming across your face, triggering your palms to start sweating. You didn’t think you were unnecessarily quiet; it’s a fucking library. You knew he was an asshole, but what the fuck did you do to him? Before you think about it anymore, you shift your thoughts towards how to respond to him, coming up blank. You grip your bag tighter, your mind racking itself, but the anxiety has already caught hold of you, and it’s as if you're stranded on an island with no help in sight. So you resort to your usual defensive mechanism; you bite back.

“So, what...? You want me to scream to get your attention?” He turns his body toward you, putting the full picture of himself on display. You’ve never been this close to him, actively avoiding him after hearing him ream other students out for being too loud or misplacing books. You didn’t realize how intimidating his stature was until now, being less than six feet away from him.

He wasn’t excessively tall, but his posture would convince you otherwise. Even as he leaned back against the length of the desk behind him, he was still probably a handful of inches taller than you. He lifts his glasses to rest on the top of his almost unruly blonde hair as he speaks, “Can’t say why I would find screaming necessary in a library, but if you need something, you should say it clearly so I can help you and not have to spend five minutes of my time explaining common courtesy to someone who knows better.”

Your annoyance is suddenly replaced with rage at his words. What the fuck? Is he trying to put this on me? Doesn’t he fucking work here? Isn’t it his job to pay attention if someone needs help? You’re even more pissed because you wouldn’t have to deal with this shit if you could study in your room. The constant reminder of your roommate getting railed while you were trying to work made that impossible, so here you are. It’s not like you wanted to ask him for help, but you need access to a private study room, and you have to request it from the attendant. Except for tonight, when you’re pent up and stressed, you have to deal with him. “I wouldn’t have to speak up if you were doing your job, asshole.” Fuck. He’s distracting me. I don’t have time for this. You watch his face as one of his eyebrows lift while he places his large hands on the ledge of the desk behind him, baring the outline of his toned chest stretching the fabric of his sweater. “Now, I know you’re not that much of a dumbass. What do you think I was doing before you walked in here and started wasting my time?” Your eyes widen, inadvertently travelling the length of his body, from the smug ass expression resting on his face to his rippling arms, tense as his hands grip the dark wooden desk. For some reason, this annoyed you even more; why did he have to be insulting and infuriatingly attractive?

His lips curl into a smirk, revelling in the glare you’re aiming at him. Dumbass? Is this asshole for real? At this point, he’s pissed you off past the point of giving a fuck. You would’ve walked away by now if you didn’t actually need his help. But if he wants to play this game, fine. A smug smile spreads across your face as you speak, “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was speaking to someone who was unable to multitask. Your life must be so hard, huh?” He drops his head, laughing as he pushes himself off the desk, taking a step toward you. Your hands grip your bag tighter as he comes closer, lifting his head so his ruby-coloured eyes meet yours. “That’s pretty fucking hilarious coming from someone who’s at the library in the middle of the night on a fuckin’ Friday.” He straightens up, shoving his hands in his pockets as he continues, “Seems more like your life is hard, and you’re just pissed off about it.” His gaze is piercing, attempting to slice through your facade of confidence, but you’re currently too livid to give a shit. You’re done talking to him, you just need to get into the study room and away from this asshole.

“No,” you seethe, “I’m pissed off because I can’t work in my room, I have shit to do, and this conversation is a waste of time.” You lift your head higher, meeting his gaze as he smirks down at you. “Oh, seems like I’m not the only one who can’t multitask then, huh?” He chuckles, watching you as you fold your arms and turn your head, breaking eye contact with him. “I just need one of the study rooms opened.”

“Oh, so you do need something,” he says, his voice dropping as he leans forward, bringing his face into your line of sight, his sharp features coming into focus. “You said it yourself, you wasted my time, so I think you can ask a little nicer than that.” You don’t think you’ve ever wanted to punch someone more than how much you want to punch his perfectly fucking chiselled jaw in that moment. Regardless of how much his face appeals to your more violent tendencies, you realize you don’t have an option. All of this bullshit will have been for nothing if you’re unable to get into that fucking room. Your jaw clenches, your teeth sinking into the inside of your cheek as your eyes bore into him. You make a point not to break eye contact when you speak through the smile you’ve painted on, “Oh, where are my manners...would you...please...open a study room so that I can get away from you?” You smile wider, contrasting the cold glare you shoot at him as he grins, watching your edges fray. He slides one of his hands out of his pocket, assessing you while he tosses the keys up in his hand, the dull metallic sound of their impact in the palm of his hand, peaking your annoyance further. “Well hell,” he says, “it’s about damn time.”

You roll your eyes as he catches the keys a final time, smirking at you before he turns to exit the enclosed space of the front desk. You readjust your bag and look up to follow him, balking at seeing him walk in front of you. He takes a few steps ahead of you, his coffee colored pants clinging to the muscles of his legs as he heads towards the back of the library where the study rooms are located. Fuck, his ass looks good. You’re grateful when you take a glance around you, suddenly conscious of what your borderline heated exchange probably looked like to anyone who could’ve seen it. Not to mention the fact that it probably definitely looked like you were staring at his ass just now. You refocus, remembering that you’re supposed to be following him. You train your eyes on the back of his neck, trying to keep yourself from fixating on his perfectly sculpted form; when you see him turn his head, eyeing you. His gaze travels up and down, then up to meet your eyes before he speaks, “For someone who claims to dislike wasted time, you sure are slow.”

Fuck. Did he catch me looking at him? Your chest tightens at the thought. Just hurry the fuck up and get to the room so you can do what you came here for. You signal your legs to pick up the pace until you’re almost in stride with him and looking straight ahead. You know where the study rooms are; you just need him to open it for you, but why does it feel like it’s taking forever to get there? Your body grows warmer, anxiety still pumping through you from your previous conversation. Now being alone in this giant space in silence is adding emphasis to the fact that you’re practically alone. You try to distract yourself, feigning interest in the books that line the shelves as you walk past them. We’ve got to be close now; just focus on the room. You look ahead, expecting to see the study rooms’ glass windows but instead are met with more shelves of books. What the fuck? Did they move them? How long have we been walking? You glance over at him, accidentally making eye contact because he was already looking at you.

Without thinking, you look away, and then you hear him speak, “Ya know, no ones usually here at this time on a Friday. Don’t you have better shit to do?” Seriously? If he’s going to be a dick, why is he even wasting his breath talking to me?

“Yeah, well, maybe I don’t,” you bite back, too tangled up in your own thoughts to decipher anything less aggressive, “and I don’t want to be here just as much as you don’t want me to be here.”

He continues walking, and you push ahead of him, attempting to put some distance between you. You don’t need him to lead you to the room; the library is only so big. Getting there on your own and waiting for him to open it would be better than dealing with this bullshit. You see him looking over at you in your peripheral vision as you pass him, and he laughs. “You don’t wanna be here, but all of a sudden, you’re in a hurry. A little conflicting, don’t you think?”

You roll your eyes. Fuck off. Is what you would’ve said if you wanted to continue this conversation. He would definitely have something to say to that. “Are you forgetting that I’ve got what you want?” You stop dead in your tracks and spin on your heels to face him, “Excuse me?” He doesn’t even flinch at your raised tone, you could practically hear your own voice echoing around you as he walks up to you, stopping inches away. He’s so close you can smell him, a warm scent of amber and oak catching you off guard as you hold your ground. His lips lilt into a mocking half-smile as he moves his hand towards you to dangle the keys directly in front of your face. “What? You want to get into the room, don’t you?” Your focus shifts from the keys to his crimson eyes, blurring everything else around you as your body reacts to the heat radiating off of his skin. He feels...warm. I wonder - Your gaze drops to his lips, maddeningly curled into a taunting smirk. “Well, now I’m wondering what you thought I was talking about.”

He pulls the keys into the palm of his hand with a metallic snap, the sound almost making you jump as your eyes widen. You find yourself holding your breath as the tightening in your chest climbs up to your throat. Say something. Fucking anything. Your face must tell him everything he needs to know, because he doesn’t wait for a response. “How’s this, I’ll let you off the hook if you tell me why you’re here, dealing with my bullshit, when you could be studying in your dorm.”

This is none of his fucking business, but it’s easier to answer than the previous question, so fuck it. “I can’t focus there.” He raises an eyebrow at you, clearly not satisfied with your answer. You roll your eyes and sigh, “It’s just...noisy. I can’t think straight.”

He laughs at your response, “Yeah I can see that you're easily distracted.” You feel his eyes hovering over your body before meeting your gaze and shifting his weight to start walking again. You take a deep breath, silently relieved that whatever the fuck that was is over. “There’s this invention,” he says as he walks ahead of you “called headphones, ever thought of using those?” You shoot daggers into the back of his head as he turns the corner and you see the study rooms up ahead. Thank fucking god. He sifts through the keys as he walks, locating the one he needed to open the door. His hands move to slide the key into the lock, “Tch. Unless you’ve got roommates that are loud when they fuck. Headphones might not help much.” You know this is a joke but the heat spreading through your face, and the way your body tenses up catches his attention. “Did I strike a nerve,” he asks, smirking at you as his hand grips the door handle.

“Just open the door.” He raises an eyebrow and you release an exasperated sigh, “Please.”

He swings the door open, holding it open as he waits for you to walk through. Finally. I can get this asshole out of my face and work. You walk towards the door, and you notice he isn’t moving. I can hold the door on my own. Why is he still standing there? As you move you eye the entrance to the room, realizing you’re going to need to get insanely close to him to get through the doorway. Fuck it. Just slip by him and move on. “Listen, I don’t bite,” he says, noticing your moment of hesitation with a sly smile. You roll your eyes, making a point to look him in the eyes as you attempt to get by him. His piercing gaze slices through you, stoking the flames within your core you’ve been harnessing all night; fuck, maybe all semester. You fail to keep the flush from blooming across your face, turning your head away from him as you attempt to brush past him. You can feel him watching you, it feels like heat is emanating from his skin, pulling you closer as you hear a low voice directly in your ear, “Unless you want me to.”

What? It was a split second that you were close enough to hear him. Your breath catches as you finally make it past him, his words echoing in your head. Did he just-? You turn around to face him, “What did you just s-“ but he was already leaving, walking back towards the front of the library, probably to finish working on whatever the hell had him so focused when you arrived earlier.

You turn away, your back towards the floor to ceiling window of the small room as your mind reels from the last thing he said to you. I swear I heard him correctly. But why would he say that? Am I fucking crazy? You mindlessly unpack what you need out of your bag and sit at the desk, trying and failing miserably for almost an hour to focus on your work. You find yourself repeatedly scanning the same page because you can’t stop yourself from looking over your shoulder to see if he’s nearby. You nibble at the tip of your pen, looking at the book in front of you and unable to comprehend a single thing. Your oral fixation is running rampant and your thoughts are nowhere near where they should be when the image of his lips slip into your head. What do they taste like? Your body reacts to the thought, squeezing your thighs together as your core tightens imagining his hands gripping your skin, his teeth sinking into you. Fuck. Fuck!

You turn your head again, wondering if there was any way he would be looking in your direction; his thoughts riddled with the same infuriatingly erotic images on a loop in your head. Then, you see him. His back towards you as he holds a stack of books in one arm to place on the shelves. Your eyes travel down the length of his body, the lines of muscle subtly evident through his clothes. You watch him as he reaches up to a particularly high shelf, and his sweater lifts just enough to see the definition of his lower back. Heat is building inside you, the stirring in your core causing your walls to clench, thinking about raking your nails across his back. Ffuuck...NO. Get your fucking shit together. Why would he want to fuck someone who has nothing better to do than study on a Friday night? Fucking focus. You try to gather your thoughts, but must’ve mistakenly zoned out while you were looking at him, because as soon as your eyes refocus you see his head turned in your direction, one cinder red eye smoldering into you.

Fuck! Your body stiffens, unsure what else to do besides just go back to pretending you were working on this project. That’s basically what you’ve been doing since you sat down anyways. And for what? Just for you to embarrass and distract yourself just enough for this entire ordeal to be a colossal waste of time.You start to gather your things, applying more force than necessary to shove everything back into your bag. Fuck this. I haven’t gotten anything done and it’s been two fucking hours. I should’ve just stayed in my room, used my vibrator and moved on. At least I would’ve been able to think straight.

“You must do that often, huh?”

Your eyes widen and you immediately turn your body towards the source of the voice coming from the doorway. Your eyes land on his waist, then to the large hands in his pockets as he seems to take up all the remaining space in the room. You catch a glimpse of the student ID on the lanyard threaded through his belt loop. Katsuki Bakugo. You didn’t even bother to check the picture before you looked up, eyes connecting with the same asshole smirk you’ve been replaying in your head since you sat down. I didn’t say all of that shit out loud did I?

“What are you talking about,” you snap. You really don’t feel like playing this game with him. You already made up your mind that you were leaving, there was no way in hell you were going to stick around to get made fun of. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Ha. That’s a good question,” he takes a step, crossing the length of the room to lean against the desk inches away from you. “I have a better question though. How long have you been watching me instead of working?”

It feels like your brain short circuits. Did he catch me looking for him earlier? Fuck!

“I-” it suddenly dawns on you that the only way he would’ve seen that is if he was looking at you. You just didn’t see him.

You smile up at him, crossing your arms as you lean back in your chair. “The only way you could even think that, is if you were watching me. So you tell me, Katsuki, how long was it?”

He grins as he places his hands on the edge of the desk on either side of him and leans down towards you, his face inches away from yours. His eyes hold your gaze, his crimson eyes blazing like an unhinged wildfire as he speaks, “See, it’s my job to watch you. I work here, dumbass,” he says, his eyes dropping down to your chest as you cross your arms even tighter. God, I’m such an idiot. Of course he’s watching me because he has to. What the fuck was I thinking? Further embarrassment creeps across your face at the thought of even considering that he wanted you. Then, he leans in closer, the sound of his voice a warm whisper against your ear as he speaks, “What’s your excuse?”

You almost stop breathing. Your thoughts frantically trying to come up with something; anything that wasn’t the truth. You come up blank, your expression must’ve given him the answer he was looking for, because he laughs. He laughs in your face, and as much as you want to be completely pissed off, you’re distracted by the glint of the piercing poised in the center of his tongue. Fuck.

Subduing his laughter he sits up just enough to look down at you, raising an eyebrow as he smirks, “You’d like to think that, wouldn’t you? That I was watching you because I wanted to?” You glare at him, the all consuming mixture of rage and embarrassment spreading through you as your face flushes. Your nails are digging into your arms so hard that you can feel it through your sweatshirt. You can’t think of a single thing to say, but your mouth moves without thinking.

Your eyes connect, and you spit out exactly what your mind is silently screaming, “Fuck off.” You make sure you don’t look away, pointedly challenging him to say anything remotely clever in response. The grin spreading across his face is the first sign that you’ve lost that challenge.

“Pretty nasty mouth for someone who’s in the library more often than her own room.”

You flare up, everything you’ve been holding in boiling over as you bite back at him, “You don’t know shit about me,” your voice is tight, and growing louder as you let the words spill out of your mouth, “I’m here all the fucking time because I can’t deal with the fact that I have to watch everyone around me have a life while I bury myself in school. I don’t have friends or shit else to do because I don’t have fucking time. I just want to get through this hell so I can finally just do what I want! So could you, please, get the fuck out of my face so I can go.”

“The door’s right there, you could’ve left a long time ago, but here we are,” he says, his smirk dripping with sarcasm.

I’m so fucking done with this shit. You move to get up, grabbing your bag off of the desk as you turn towards the door. Your hand is reaching for the doorknob when you hear his voice again.

“Did you not hear me?”

“Loud and fucking clear. I’m leaving aren’t I?”

“For someone who’s so fucking smart you really are a dumbass,” he says, standing as he takes a step towards you.

Why haven’t you left yet? Why haven’t you opened the door and - It hits you. You replay his words in your mind, picking up on something you were too pissed off to realize until this moment.

You turn around to face him, and you’re eye level with his shoulders, inches away from you. The warm amber scent of him enveloping you as your gaze travels up his neck to the angle of his jaw, finally making eye contact as you speak, “How would you know I’m here more often than my own room?”

“Tch. Like I said before, I work here,” he says, before moving closer, the heat of his breath brushing against your face as he continues, “but I’ll admit getting to see you makes my job less shitty.”

Your chest tightens, the fluttering in your core enough to make your pulse quicken as your lips part slightly.

He’s watching your face, smirking as your body tenses up when he closes the space between you. “But if you really want to leave...” he whispers against your skin, careful not to touch you as you look up at him with pleading eyes. He brings his lips a breadth away from yours, dropping his gaze to your mouth. “I’m going to fuck you on the desk.” he says, his hands still in his pockets as his words melt into you, “If you don’t want me to, tell me right fucking now.”

He’s so close to you, all you had to do was tilt your head up just a little more and your lips would touch. The thought invaded your mind, your breath catching in your throat as your body reacted to his words, tightening your core to the point of aching. You lift your eyes to meet the heat of gaze as you speak, “Do it, then-“

“Fucking finally,” he growls, his voice raspy and low as he makes contact, his lips moving against yours as the palms of his hands travel up to your face. They slide into your hair at the nape of your neck, collecting it in his fist, while the other hand grips your hips. He pulls you into him, moving you against the wall adjacent to the door. Your back meets the wall, the impact strong enough to make sound and your mind is blank. The feeling of his hands, his lips, his body pressed against yours, overwhelming your senses as you grasp onto the fabric of his sweater. His kiss is hungry and breathless, low groans vibrating against your lips as his pierced tongue slips between them, tasting the heat of your wet mouth.

You whimper into him, your body on fire from the inside out as the thin thread of self control you have left is priming to snap. His lips curl up into a smirk at the sounds lilting out of you and a growl ripples through him as he bites your bottom lip hard enough for you to open your eyes. He releases you, his breaths heavy as he presses his forehead against yours. His scarlet irises bore into you as he speaks, “We’re going to have to do something about all that fucking noise you’re making,” he smirks, his eyes traveling from your swollen lips to your legs, taking note of how tightly you’re clenching your thighs together. “You’re a mess already aren’t you?” His breathy laugh brushes against your face as he pulls away hooking his index fingers into the waistband of your leggings and tugging just enough for them to snap back once he releases.

A soft gasp escapes your lips at the impact against your sensitive skin, the heat pooling between your thighs as your insides clench. Your body is screaming, begging for him to touch you and your mouth moves on its own. “Please,” you whisper up at him, your hands finding the hem of his sweater as you spread your fingers against his skin, feeling every ridge of hardened muscle beneath it.

He drops his gaze down to your hands as your fingertips explore the surface of his skin. A low rumble vibrates through his chest, as his eyes sear into you, “Don’t forget, you fucking asked for this.” His hands move, pulling your sweatshirt over your head and dropping it onto the floor before he leans into you, pushing his leg between your thighs while he holds both your wrists in one hand above your head against the wall. His other hand grips your hip, his fingertips digging into your skin as his lips meets your neck.

You start to move against him, trying to get a taste of the friction your body is aching for while he teases your neck with open mouth kisses. His breath is hot against your skin, teeth sinking into you, as low groans escape his lips. He feels so fucking good and you haven’t been fucked in so long you might cum before he even gets to feel how wet you are. His lips move up to your ear, his voice low as his breath caresses your skin, “You’re riding my thigh like it’s something else, baby girl.” The hand gripping your hip slides under your shirt as he speaks, palming your breast while he kisses the space behind your ear. His teeth graze against your skin as a rippling growl erupts from him, pulling a whimper from your lips while your pussy grinds against his thigh.

You can feel the length of his hardening cock against your leg as you press yourself against him. He pinches your nipple, igniting every nerve in your body as he grins against your skin, feeling your body bend for him. A gasping moan escapes your lips, the sound filling the space around you as your head drops back against the wall. He pulls his head back just enough to watch your reaction; your eyes squeezed shut as your whines spill from your open mouth. “I can feel your pussy clenching for me, y/n,” he says, his lips trailing down your exposed neck as his hand moves to your other hardened nipple. The pressure he applies is sharp and delicious causing every muscle in your body to tighten, your panting breaths mingling with his hums of satisfaction as he feels you on the edge of unraveling at his touch.

“Fuck...ha...hahh...Katsuki...” You’re on your tiptoes relishing in the feeling of his teasing fingers as your insides coil imagining the feeling of him stretching you out. He grinds against you, his arousal pressing against your leg as your nails dig into the palms of your hands. “Mmm, You’re so fucking sexy, so desperate for this fucking cock aren’t you?”

Your lips are moving before you think, your mind consumed with the heat swelling inside you, “Yes...yes...please.” You lean forward in an attempt to meet his lips but he pulls away, releasing your hands as he moves to grip your hips. You let out a small yelp when he picks you up under your ass, and turns to put you on top of the desk. His hands slide down to the crook of your legs as he stands between them, eyeing you beneath his lashes when he speaks, “Pull them down.” You lean back, searching his face as you try to collect your thoughts. You must’ve taken longer than he wanted because he leans in, placing his hand on the wall behind you as his crimson eyes burn into yours, “You’re taking your sweet fucking time, and you’re already soaked down here?”

His fingers move to your warm center, feeling your arousal soaking through your leggings as he presses circles against your aching clit. Your legs involuntarily squeeze around his hips as his hand drops from the wall to grip a fistful of your hair, pulling your head back to make you look at his face as his voice drops, “Spread...your fucking...legs.” Your pulse quickens, your blood heating up as he slows the pace of the pressure he’s circling around your clit and you whimper up at him, giving into the ripples of pleasure coursing through your body.

You want more, you lean back on your hands, hips moving to the rhythm his fingers play against your drenched core as your pleading eyes meet his gaze. You’re in a fucking library, in a room with a huge ass window. But the thought of someone seeing you makes your pulse speed up, sending a heightened thrum of pleasure streaming through you, “Hnnngh...ffuckk…” your hips move faster, cloying for more pressure, more friction, more feeling. Katsuki notices your body’s reaction, tightening his hold on your hair, causing your eyes to squeeze shut from the slight prickle of pain. “You wanna cum so fucking bad don’t you? That pussy of yours is begging for this fucking cock.” All you can do is pant in response, your eyes opening to see his face, smirking down at you as his fingers push harder, “Show me, show me how much you want it so I can see that dripping pussy.”

A breathy moan slips out of your throat as you sit up to push the fabric of your leggings down to your ankles. Katsuki releases his hold on your hair, watching your every movement as his gaze drops down to the essence glistening against your swollen lips. You hear his sharp intake of breath, the air hissing between his teeth as his eyes hungrily take you in before he meets your gaze again. His hooded eyes are a shadowed crimson, the heat rising up to your cheeks as you squirm beneath him.

One of his hands moves to grip the top of your thigh, the pads of his fingers digging into your skin as he slips two fingers from his other hand into his mouth. Your pussy tightens, watching him give his fingers a gentle suck as his gaze locks onto yours. The image is lethal, your breath catching at the sight of his wet fingers sliding past his lips and dropping to your aching pussy to tease your entrance. “Fuck, you’re so fucking wet baby,” he hisses between his teeth, as he pinches your clit, the pressure enough to pull a gasping moan from your throat.

Your eyes flutter closed as you stifle a moan and lean your head back against the wall. His fingers maddeningly toy with you as you hear him unbuckle his belt. Sheer curiosity makes your eyelids hover open as you look down, taking in the size of him, his hand wrapping around his thick shaft and gliding over the prominent veins to his cherried swollen tip, dripping pre. You want to taste him so badly, your mouth begins to water and all you can think about is feeling his throbbing cock inside you. You don’t give a fuck if it barely fits. Your pussy clenches at the thought, wordlessly begging to be stuffed to the brim.

A low growl ripples through his chest, “I don’t even have to look at your face to know your pussy’s begging for this cock.” He thumbs the throbbing head of his dick, swirling the pre around his tip while his eyes bore into you. You couldn’t look away from his gaze if you wanted to, even as his fingers leave your aching core to pull you down with a rough tug at the crook of your legs, forcing your ass to the edge of the desk. He leans over your body, bringing his face inches away from yours, sliding a pre soaked thumb into your awaiting mouth flattening your tongue against his calloused finger. You wrap your lips around it, gently sucking and swirling your tongue, tasting his arousal for the first time.

A low moan rises from your throat, vibrating around him as you watch his eyes darken. He presses down against your tongue, forcing your mouth open as he growls, “Mmm you’re a naughty little slut aren't you...” His words send your insides fluttering, your hands balling into fists as your muscles tighten, your walls clamping around nothing but air as you pout. You don’t give a fuck anymore. Someone could stand directly in front of that massive fucking window and record the whole fucking thing. It doesn’t matter. You want him, right fucking now. You roll your hips, grinding your wet pussy against his hard cock. His dick twitches in response grinding through your slit and hitting your clit sending a simpering moan spilling from your open mouth.

You feel him press harder against your tongue and his voice drops, “Such a fucking tease,” he slides his length through your swollen lips, his heat seeping into you as he whispers, “You want this fucking cock? Let’s see how quiet you can be and maybe, I’ll let you cum.” He releases your tongue, slipping his hand under your shirt to swirl his slick fingers around your nipple. You bite your lip, attempting to silence the whimpers rising from your throat as your back arches at his touch, your hands craving to touch him. You reach up, sliding your hands under the fabric of his sweater as you drag your nails down his back. A guttural growl emanates from his chest as he ruts against you, every ridge of his thick cock sliding into your clit.

You can feel yourself melting beneath his hands, his fingers tugging at your nipples as his body moves down leaving soft bites and licks in his wake. The heat of his breath and the cool kiss of the metal stud in his tongue meets your dripping center and it’s enough to send goosebumps flooding across your skin. In one swift motion he’s on his knees between your legs, the back of your thighs resting on his shoulders and his hands gripping you to pull your plush wet lips closer to his smirking mouth. Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m not going to be able to- “Shhhh,” you watch his lips as he smiles, looking directly at you. You swallow the moan threatening to escape your lips but your shallow breaths are giving you away, he fucking knows I won’t be able to take this...

Then, he’s inhaling you, his tongue slipping into your clenching pussy, licking from your entrance to your clit while he looks directly into your eyes as he pulls away, “Fuck. You taste so fucking good.” His voice is heated and low, the evidence of your arousal glistening on his lips as he speaks. The image sends your insides fluttering, your muscles tensing down to your toes as your legs attempt to constrict around him. You’re squirming already but he’s got you pinned, wide open and spread out, at the mercy of his vicious fucking mouth.

He doesn’t give you a chance to catch your breath before he’s latching onto you, his hot wet tongue delving into your silky walls as his piercing vibrates against you with even the slightest groan. You gasp for air, eyes squeezed shut, fingers intertwined in his hair you grind into him, completely blissed out and swimming in the waves of pleasure ebbing through you with every flick and suck. You’re a fucking mess, trying to maintain some modicum of control as he mercilessly swirls his tongue around your pulsing clit. His teeth nestle around it, gently rolling your bundle of nerves between them as he flicks his piercing against you, pulling a low groan from the depths of your core.

He growls, licking your pussy from your clenching entrance to your base of your clit before he looks up at you, “How am I gonna fuck you if you can’t keep quiet with just my fucking tongue, hmm?” The loss of pressure makes you whine, you’re so fucking close. He smirks at you, one of his hands releases your thigh, dropping down to push two of his thick fingers into your warm weeping center. His eyes follow his movements, watching as you take him in, curling his fingers to brush against your most sensitive spot as he slides in and out of you. It’s too much, but you choke down the sobbing whimper cloying in your throat. Your legs shake, breasts heaving as your panting breaths quicken with every thrust of his fingers. You’re biting your lip so hard to keep quiet you might draw blood, but you lean back, putting your weight on your hands to lift your hips and roll into him, letting his long fingers push deeper inside you.

You clamp down around him, your body begging for more; more feeling, more friction, more pressure, you want every little piece of it. You’re at the edge of your control, your mouth falling open in a silent moan as your eyes flutter closed and your head falls back. You can feel him watching you, humming his approval as his other hand releases your leg, “Mmmm, such a good fucking girl with this greedy fucking pussy. You wanna cum for me don’t you...?”

“Yes-yess, pleeease...haah-fuck, FUCK.”

He breathes a soft laugh over your sopping pussy before he devours your soft lips hungrily, lapping up your slit as the rhythm of his fingers speed up.

“Hnnngh...hah-haah, please-fuck, fuck, fuck!”

He’s drowning you, your senses overflowing with the feeling of heat through your body, pushing you to the brink of release. Your pussy clenches around him, his tongue sending sparks through every nerve, punishing you with his thrumming piercing as he moves to sit up on his knees, pushing further into you. He knows you’re close; his hand slides up your body, his nails dragging across your skin until he reaches your lips, sliding two of his fingers into your panting mouth.

He moans into you, making his piercing vibrate faster. Your mouth waters as you wrap your tongue around his fingers, nibbling and sucking on them. You’re a mess, unable to conjure anything except slurred muffled groans around his thick fingers. His lips pull away just enough for you to feel him growl at you.

“Cum for me, right fucking now.”

Fuck...fuckfuckfuck! Your body reacts to his words, wrapping both hands around his arm, digging your nails into his skin as your climax crashes into you. You’re struggling for air but you don’t need it, the blinding light behind your eyelids rippling with the waves of pleasure imploding from your core. He doesn’t stop, his fingers milking your insides, extending your orgasm for everything you’ve got until he slips them out of you, only to delve into your tightening entrance with his tongue, lapping up every drop of your cum.

“So fucking sweet,” he breathes, slipping his fingers out of your mouth, using both of his hands to push the back of your thighs up, inhaling everything you have left as the last tremors spiral out of your body. Eyes closed, floating in the afterglow of your release, you feel him pull your legs back down as he stands in one swift motion. He grips the top of your thighs, roughly tugging you down until your throbbing core kisses the ridges of his dick. Your eyes snap open. Fuck, he’s fucking huge.

Your expression must’ve voiced your thoughts because he expels are a breathy laugh, “You feel that don’t you, how fucking hard I am from tasting your perfect fucking pussy.” His cock twitches against you and your hips roll into him as you moan, gripping the edge of the desk with both hands as you look up at him. Your legs wrap around his waist, tightening from the flush of heat emanating from your core. You want him inside you, to feel the mind numbing combination of pleasure and pain as he stretches you out.

Your voice is a whimper, “Katsuki….please.” You continue to grind against him, your arousal and his dripping pre making you slick and hot. A guttural growl rips through his chest as he leans over you, the palm of his hand slamming on the wall as he brings his lips to your ear. Your body stills, your breaths coming in shallow pants as his muscle toned body presses against you, “Please, what? Tell me what you want, y/n.”

His tongue flicks at your neck, making your words come out in gasps, “Fuck...fuck me...please, please…” Your hands glide beneath the fabric of his sweater, splaying out to pull him closer into you while your nails dig into him. Your back bows off the surface of the desk, tightening your legs around him trying to gain more friction to appease your swollen clit.

“Be a good girl,” he breathes into your ear, “ and control that pretty mouth of yours or I’ll have to do it for you.”

You bite your lip, your need for him coiling inside you as you feel him push himself up far enough for you to feel him hovering over you. Your eyes meet and his hand moves to position himself into you. The head of his cock presses against your soaking entrance, slowly slipping into you as you fight the low moan rising from your throat. He hisses between his teeth as he watches you, “Fuck, you’re so fucking tight.” Both of his hands press into the desk, his arms caging you in, as he looks between your bodies, watching himself ease into you inch by inch. He’s already stretching you out, your velvet walls clenching around him as his wet cock slides inside of your clenching pussy. The muscles in his arms tighten, his body tensing as he begins to move his hips, pushing further into you.

“You’re clamping down on me and I’m not even all the way in yet,” he smirks at you, watching your face flush as your pulse quickens. Fuck...he’s going to fucking break me. But you’re too far gone, you want him, and your body speaks for you, lifting your hips as your nails claw into his back. A growl rips through his chest as his head dips, bringing his forehead to yours, “You want it? Okay then…”

Before you’re able to take another breath, he snaps his hips, pulling a yelp from your mouth when he bottoms out inside you. “Fffuck, you feel so fucking good.” You’re whining, struggling to accommodate his size but relishing in the mind numbing feeling of fullness your pussy was already becoming addicted to. “Not so cocky once that pretty little cunt is fucking full, huh?”

The only response you can offer is a whimper as he starts to move. He rotates his hips, grinding deeper into you, the tip of his cock brushing against your cervix. You turn your head, your eyes squeezing shut as you try to stifle the sounds rising from your throat. Your open mouth meets his arm and your teeth sink into him as he pulls out just enough to slam back into you hitting your limit. It takes everything in you not to cry out, but the pain is dulled by the overwhelming feeling of pleasure each deep powerful thrust rains down on you.

“Haah-hah, fuck baby, you’re taking me so well.” His movements find a rhythm, rolling his hips again and again filling you to the brim with every snap. The curve of his cock pushes his tip against your most sensitive spot, stirring your insides, making your body temperature rise with every panting breath. The feeling is intoxicating, drunk on the way your bodies move together, every nerve firing, desperate to drink him in more. You roll your hips, taking the full impact of every merciless thrust, your breath hitching as you choke back a sob. Your nails drag across the span of his back as you hear him hiss through his teeth. His muscles tense, back arching as a growl vibrates through his body. “Ah- FUCK. Ooooh, you want it don’t you. Yeah? You want it?”

“Katsuki, please, I want- I want more.” You’re a sputtering mess, your walls fluttering around his hard cock as he pushes off the desk, gripping your thighs in both of his massive hands. He pulls you further down bringing your ass off the edge of the desk. Your body is completely at his mercy as he pushes deeper into you, his fingertips digging into your skin as his pace speeds up. You don’t have time to adjust to his movements, he drives into you, snapping his hips, impaling you over and over.

“Ahh-ah-fffucckk,” you moan, failing miserably at staying quiet, it’s fucking impossible. It feels too good, you’re too full, overflowing with the sensations pulsing through your body. You grab onto the edge of the desk, fingers gripping the wood as his heavy sack smacks against your ass. “Mmmm,” he growls, What? Can't fucking take it? Fuck- cant control that slutty fucking mouth can you? Pussy drooling all over my fucking cock.” He lifts your shirt with one hand pulling it up to your open mouth and you immediately bite down, the fabric doing everything it can to muffle your stuttering moans.

“That’s right. Such a good fucking girl,” his fingers trail down your body, groping your breasts, pinching your nipples as every ridge of his cock fills all the space you have inside you. “Fuck- your so fucking sexy baby- you wanna cum don’t you...keep biting down on that fucking shirt.” You’re so close, so fucking close, the coil in your core threatening to snap. He feels you clamp down on him, moving one hand to press down on your stomach and the other to your throbbing clit.

The pressure pushes your spot against his dick, his punishing thrusts slamming into it every time as he rubs maddening circles around your clit. “Hnnnnf-hnnnngh!” Your shirt muffles your sobs as you squeeze your eyes closed, the tears prickling at the corners as your back arches, your head thrown back as far as it can go. “Fuck yes- cum on this cock baby...cum for me.”

His words are your undoing, any ounce of control you have left exploding into the myriad of colors flashing behind your eyes. The thin thread at the base of your spine snaps, catapulting you into the stratosphere, overheating and gasping for air. The feeling saturates you, expelling any and every thought your mind could attempt to conjure. You squeeze your legs around him, every muscle in your body tightening as your pussy clamps down on his throbbing dick.

“Fuck- FUCK-mmmm, get ready to swallow every drop of this fucking cum baby.” His voice washes over you, the waves of your orgasm still rippling through your body as you feel him slide out of you. He hooks a finger in the neckline of your shirt, pulling you to sit up as he steps back between your legs. Your eyes land on his straining cock, slick from your arousal and the dripping pre his hand is fisting up and down his shaft. “Open...your fucking…mouth.”

You want to taste him, your mouth waters watching his cock twitch in his hands. Your body is so fucking spent, your legs would give out if you tried getting on your knees. You push your ass back, hinging at the hips and leaning forward, looking up at him through your lashes as you hold your tongue out of your open mouth for him. “Ughggh, fuck,” he groans, watching you as the heat from your breath caresses his dick.

His hand moves faster, his breath catching as his muscles tense. “Fuck-FUCK- you’re so fucking sexy baby, you’re gonna take all this fucking cum aren’t you...yeah? Show me...wrap those lips around my dick baby.” Your insides flutter as you swirl your tongue around the swollen pink head of his cock, tasting the mixture of his pre and your arousal. You inhale the intoxicating scent of him before hollowing your cheeks and taking in as much of him as you can. “Hah-haah, just like that baby-FUCK.” He moves his hand from the base of his dick to the back of your head, your eyes widening as he starts to thrust into your mouth.

His other hand rests under your throat, holding you still while he face fucks you. A low moan rises in your throat, vibrating around his cock as his uneven breaths melt into groans and hisses. “So fucking perfect,” he’s panting, his voice raspy and rumbling, “Taste your slutty fucking pussy on my cock baby?- haah-hah- all this cum I’m gonna shoot down your throat’s cus’ve you.” He’s thrusting harder, his pace speeding up as he stretches you out, hitting the back of your throat. You gag around him, your saliva dripping from the corners of your mouth as tears begin to fall, “Choke on that cock baby, that’s right- take - all of it- fuck, Fuck-FUCK!”

The hand on the back of your head fists your hair as he throws his head back, all of his muscles tensing up as he bucks into your mouth spraying hot thick ropes of cum down your throat. You swallow every drop of him, his chest heaving with his heavy breaths as he slides his dick out of your mouth and pulls your hair, making you sit up. His lips crash into yours, his tongue lapping into your mouth, tasting the remains of your combined arousal. He releases the grip on your hair, bringing his hand down to your cheek. His touch is surprisingly gentle as he pulls you in further, sighing into you before he pulls away.

You look up, your gaze meeting the smirk on his face before noticing the smug fucking look in his eyes. You roll your eyes, curling your lips into a grin, “What’s that look for?”

“You had a hard time staying quiet in public,” he says, smiling mischievously at you. “I’m wondering what you’d sound like if I fucked you somewhere else.”

Your eyes narrow. How is he still such a sexy fucking asshole. “I wouldn’t mind testing that theory,” you say, smirking as you lean in, looking up at him, legs dangling off the desk.

"Tch," Katsuki eyes you, his scarlet eyes scanning your body as he steps out from between your legs, pulling his pants up and buckling his belt. He looks over at you, "Then, I don’t know what you’re still sitting there for. I’ve gotta clean up the mess you made.”

You grin at him, the irony of him fucking you until your neighbors can hear you screaming almost makes you laugh, pushing the thought of your class project completely out of your mind.

Tags: @sweet-darling91 @aztecbrujeria @tarot-milktea I love you guys 💜 If anyone else wants to be tagged lmk :)

#bakugou katsuki #bnha smut #university au #college au #bakugou smut #bakugou x reader #bakugo x female reader #bnha fanfic art #mha fanfiction #mha smut #aged up characters

[sassycassie-s-writing]

Diplomatic Daemati

By: SassyShoulderAngel319

Fandom/Character(s): A Court of Thorns and Roses Series/Rhysand

Rating: PG/K+

Original Idea: A writing prompt on Pinterest about screaming in your mind to catch mind readers

Notes: (Masterlist)(By Character)(About Me) Clocking in at 3,712 words... this one really ran away from me. I kinda wanted to make this a full blown thing. Maybe I will but I haven’t decided yet. This is supposed to take place like way before Amarantha.

^^^^^

I stood in the High Lord’s meeting, a member of Thesan’s entourage, and stared at each and every High Fae and faerie. Most of them didn’t notice. Not Rhysand of the Night Court, who was coldly making stiff conversation with Helion of the Day Court, who didn’t notice me either.

But I could feel it. The presence. Someone else in this room was daemati. Like me. The wards keeping everyone from fighting made it hard to pinpoint the direction that presence was coming from. No matter which way I faced, I only ever felt the other daemati with my right ear, like a fly buzzing around my head at the same speed I turned it. Thesan hadn’t noticed I was jittery. Probably because, as a Peregryn and a warrior trained to always be on alert, I was always flighty.

Also because he didn’t know I was daemati. A secret I’d never been sure why I kept.

My own mental shields were up, but they were designed to be subtle. Another daemati might look at my mind and not sense they were up. Depending on how good they were.

I reached out with my mind, letting nothing more than a breeze caress the shields of everyone who had one. Every High Lord had one; as did many members of their entourages. Not all.

No one stiffened as my breeze touched their shields. I wasn’t sure if a non-daemati would even be able to feel the wisp of magic, but I doubted it.

I poked a little harder at Tamlin and Nostrus’ shields where they were discussing their shared border with the bored tones of those looking for things in common. Not a breeze, but a brush of a flower stem as one walked. Neither acknowledged anything. I tried Beron’s. Nothing. Helion’s. Nothing. Rhysand. Nothing.

Except—did his eye twitch? Or was I shaking so much that I imagined it? Was it wishful thinking that his blue-violet eyes might have flicked away from Helion and looked around for the source of the magic against his shield?

I wasn’t sure if I dared poke harder. Though I was distracted from the thought by movement.

The High Lord of the Winter Court—whose name escaped me—stood. “I’d like to call this meeting to order,” he said. His voice was brittle like ice cracking as growing spring weather thawed it out.

The High Lords and their retinues all found their way to their seats. Myself included, at the far end of Thesan’s left side. The least important, lowest ranked soldier among the Dawn Court group. I was still highly ranked back home, but among every important, powerful commander High Lord Thesan had brought, I was the lowest. I considered myself honored I’d even been selected to come.

Maybe Thesan did know I was daemati after all. Or, at least, guessed as much.

Though, if he’d guessed, wouldn’t he have confronted me about it? Asked me to break into whoever’s minds I could? Just to fact check their honesty?

I tuned out the meeting completely. A low-pitched hum was filling the mental space between everyone’s minds. Reverberating off shields. No one seemed to notice. I certainly wasn’t doing it—but no one’s face betrayed any hint of effort. Not a trace of split focus.

The pitch of the hum got higher. A bead of sweat ran down my spine between my wings. I felt like I was going to vibrate out of my feathers at the effort of keeping still. I pushed against that hum, built another layer around my shields, deciding to forget the subtlety I’d planned in the event of another daemati peeking at me. I didn’t dare form words beyond that shield. Didn’t dare let the other daemati have the chance to recognize my voice. Not that I’d said anything during the opening mingle that would give someone the chance to learn my voice. But I didn’t dare risk it.

Every ounce of concentration went toward sitting still and appearing relaxed, and building up more layers of my mental shield, trying desperately to block out the humming.

I doubted anyone else—besides the originator—could even notice or feel it. I doubted they had any presence in the mindscape beyond the maintaining of their own shields. They were all tucked safely in their own minds, not noticing the hum as it got louder and higher. Loud and high enough that I was almost surprised it hadn’t become real sound, echoing around the chamber of the sacred mountain—the neutral zone where High Lords met.

That hum turned into the drone of an oboe. Holding steady and perfectly in tune.

Another drop of sweat slid down my spine, brushing where feather met skin.

Everyone’s faces were perfect masks of calm indifference.

“—furthermore, when taken into consideration—” the High Lord of the Winter Court dragged on. The only words that had broken through my own internal war with my own body and whoever was making the droning.

The pitch built again. I felt like it was going to shear my feathers off.

I glanced at the Illyrian warriors Rhysand had brought with him. It would be a literal one-of-a-kind chance for the shadowsinger to also be daemati.

But it would be just like Rhysand—with his games and his plans and his power plays—to have allied himself with the two most powerful Illyrians in history that also were a shadowsinger and a daemati.

The bigger of the two—taller than even Rhysand by several inches—with his glowing scarlet Siphons and powerful build didn’t seem to fit, though. I quickly lashed a tendril of my presence at his shield. I felt it wobble. Just a bit. It was there and it was strong, but it didn’t have the intricacies of someone who knew from the experience of attacking a shield how to defend against daemati.

Not him then.

A quick test at the shadowsinger revealed the same. Though I kept my eyes on the High Lord of the Winter Court, I could have sworn the shadowsinger’s eyes flicked around.

Shadowsingers can hear and feel things no one else can, I reminded myself. He’s still probably not daemati on top of it.

The drone was now a high-pitched ringing. It was all I could do to hold still.

No one looked strained by the effort of holding this noise for the several minutes it had been building.

I tested everyone’s shields around the room in a quick wave. They didn’t seem to notice. Not me, and not the ringing.

My mind felt like it was going to shatter from the noise before my shield did.

Almost unwittingly, I cracked open a small slit in my shield—

And screamed.

Not physically. Just mentally. A high-pitched, bloodcurdling scream. The kind I’d released when I’d had to have a wing relocated after a particularly nasty training day and my captain’s scrimmage resulted in dislocating the joint where my wing met my back.

Rhysand flinched.

No one else noticed it. No one else would have. They weren’t looking for it. They were all still focused on the Winter Court High Lord. The flinch was small and barely more than a twitch of his right hand.

But I saw.

Rhysand. High Lord of the Night Court. The wicked, dangerous, calculating, cold, manipulative, admittedly handsome, extremely powerful High Lord of the Night Court.

Who now knew there was another daemati in the room.

And was most likely smart and strong enough to pinpoint that it was me.

I slammed the sliver in my shield closed and reinforced the whole thing a few times over. If he had games to play with my mind, I could at least keep him busy for a while. I tested my shield for weak points and built them up.

The high-pitched ringing stopped. I forced my wings not to shiver at the relief.

No probes. Not a single scuff of another’s presence against my shield. No claws. Not even a breeze. It was almost more unnerving than if he did attack.

I was curious about the intricacies of his shield. Curious if I could learn something from someone older and more experienced by trying to tunnel through.

But I didn’t dare. He was far too strong for me to go up against and win.

And I wasn’t willing to get into his mind and risk him trapping me there. To be an unwitting and unwilling slave and spy in the Dawn Court.

So I kept myself to myself for the rest of the meeting. Not daring to reach out to anyone’s minds.

—

The end of the meeting brought a bit more mingling. Less from the High Lords and more from the retinues. The Night Court kept to themselves, but that didn’t surprise me. Every party had brought wine and were taking the chance to drink and talk.

I hung near a wall and said nothing to no one. I allowed my body—my wings—to shudder every time I took a sip of my drink. Acting as though the elderberry wine was the cause of the shudder, not the pent-up energy of holding still through that droning. My hearing still felt fuzzy hours after it had stopped.

“You know,” a lazy voice drawled behind me, “breaking into other people’s minds is rude.”

I whirled. Rhysand stood there. Unnervingly close. His eyes were blue, but so dark and so deep they appeared violet.

My grip tightened on the stem of my glass.

“So I’d imagine,” I said, tone tightly controlled and managing not to tremble.

He leaned down—I was shorter than him—and whispered, “I won’t tell anyone you’re daemati.”

“I assume you’ll want something in exchange.” My words weren’t quite as flat and fearless as I wanted them to be, but I hoped it was enough to fool him. Doubtful. He was centuries older than me.

He gave me a roguish smirk. “Information.”

“I would rather be outed as daemati than give up court secrets to you.”

Rhysand waved a hand dismissively, swirling his wine. I reinforced my shields, but he didn’t touch them. “Not about your court. We’re on decent terms with each other, Night and Dawn. Comparatively, anyway. No, no. I want information about you. It’s so rare to meet another daemati. I should think you’d be interested in comparing notes.” He spoke with a tone that was undoubtedly supposed to be sweet, but so laced with poison that my feathers bristled.

I should have been scared. I knew I should have been scared. Terrified out of my mind, probably.

For whatever reason, I wasn’t.

Nervous, of course. Tentative, of course. But there was no real fear.

“What do you want to know?” I asked.

“Who taught you?”

“No one. I taught myself.”

“Liar,” he snapped.

“It’s the truth. No one—not even my parents—know what I am.” I spoke quietly so the other mingling High Fae and faeries didn’t hear in a room of predator’s hearing.

“And why not? You’d quickly become a very prized member of Thesan’s court if you told him. He would value you and your opinion quite highly.” I wasn’t sure if he was being genuine or if his saccharine smile was meant to intimidate me.

I lifted my chin. “If you must know, I made a grave mistake with my powers when I was a child and vowed that I would never tell anyone what I was. So I taught myself.”

Rhysand’s playful sarcasm vanished on a wisp of smoke. “You hurt someone?”

“No. I wasn’t strong enough for that. But I looked into my father’s mind without permission. Without knowing, really. I just… slipped in. And I saw a lot of ugly truths in there that a child had no right to see. Including the fact that he was having an affair with another female. I never told my mother. Never told anyone, actually. I kept myself to myself and honed my abilities on my own. No one ever asked if I was daemati when I joined the legion, so I never said anything.”

“So why not reveal it now?”

I scoffed. “Because that would lose the trust of everyone I know, if they found out I lied to them for decades.”

Rhysand smiled. The same wickedly amused one he’d sported occasionally during the meeting and during the first part of our conversation. “I like you,” he purred, leaning closer. My feathers fluffed and bristled.

His lips brushed the edge of my ear as he whispered, “If you’re interested, I’d be interested in training you further.”

“I’m fine as I am, thank you,” I replied, colder and sharper than I meant.

His face betrayed nothing, still that mask of collected, sarcastic boredom. “You don’t want to be seen as a traitor to your court, is that it?”

My wings extended just slightly and I lifted my chin. None of my instinctual attempts at intimidation would work on him. I knew that. But my wings often acted like a second facial expression, and one that was harder to control than my actual face. “No. I don’t. And I would be if I was caught anywhere near your vicinity.”

Rhys picked at a speck of dust on his lapel that wasn’t there. “I’m sure I could find some way to spin it to Thesan to let you come play with me without being seen as a traitor.” Shadows rippled around him, almost the same way they swirled around his shadowsinger.

“Why?”

“Because an under-trained daemati is dangerous. Potentially more dangerous than a fully-trained one. You could crush and shred minds without meaning to. And I may be a monster, but even I don’t delight in the unintentional destruction of innocent minds and lives,” Rhysand said. “But you gave me information about you—so I will also hold to my end and not tell anyone what you are.” He tilted his head to the side. “Unless you wish me to.”

“No,” I said, too fast to not sound desperate.

I cast my mind around the High Fae and faeries nearby. None of them were paying us any mind.

I realized why as I brushed against several tendrils of dark power. Effortlessly puncturing their shields. He was keeping their attention off of us. None of them even seemed to notice he was there.

His lips curled in a predatory smile. “So? What do you say? Let me train you, hone your gifts, make sure you have full control?”

“And in return?” I repeated.

“Clever girl. In return, you give me three fallen feathers from your next molting.”

My feathers bristled. “Why?”

“The why is not part of the deal,” he said. “What do you say?”

“One condition: no tattoo. I know it’s customary in your court to mark a bargain on the skin, but I want this to remain a secret. Which a tattoo will not help with.”

That predator’s grin widened. “Fine. No tattoo. But it’s a deal?” He extended a hand to me.

I hesitated. “Deal,” I agreed. I grabbed his hand and shook it.

Pain slashed on the inside of my left elbow. I gasped and looked down.

A faint scar, surgically precise, grazed the bottom of the crease in my skin. Rhysand rolled up his jacket sleeve to show off a matching one in the same place. “No tattoo,” he said. Giving me a cheeky wink and rolling his sleeve back down into place, he strolled off. Straight toward Thesan, despite what his unhurried amble would suggest.

I decided I didn’t want to know how he planned on spinning a way to get the chance to train me without my defecting to the Night Court or betraying the Dawn Court. I stayed where I was, nursing my drink. Looking at no one, not even Rhysand and Thesan, for longer than a casual glance. My wings shuddered with every sip of my drink. I really didn’t like wine—elderberry or otherwise—but didn’t want to seem out of place by not drinking. The truce in this sacred mountain always felt like it was balancing on a knife’s edge. One soldier not drinking would imply a lack of trust in everyone assembled and then everything would go sideways as the High Lords shouted at each other and escalated the situation.

Rhysand and Thesan left the chamber, both motioning to their entourages not to join. Rhysand’s Illyrian warriors watched them go, the same way I did.

Why were Night Court males so handsome? How was that fair to the rest of us?

One of my fellow Peregryn soldiers sidled up to me. “Some meeting, huh?” he asked. I grunted agreement.

“Always is, with the High Lords, I’d imagine.”

My cohort shuddered. “All that power, all in one room. It was like the air itself was turning into magic. Especially High Lord Rhysand. My feathers bristled just getting within half a wing-length of him.”

“No kidding,” I agreed. “I know he’s supposedly the most powerful, but I get the feeling that sometimes he’s more than just a cut above the rest. I feel like he might be several cuts above the other High Lords.”

My cohort nodded. “You’re probably right,” he said. “It’s unnerving.” His feathers shivered. I reached back and straightened one of my own. “Did you see where he went with High Lord Thesan?”

“Just out into one of the passages.”

“Any guesses why?”

I shrugged, my feathers swishing through the air with the motion. “Probably High Lord business not meant for the ears of the rest of us. You know Rhysand’s reputation as well as I do. He’s a schemer. He’s always got something up his sleeve. He’s always one step ahead of everyone else. High Lord Thesan has complained that Rhysand is difficult to work with at the best of times. Has plans he tells no one about until they’ve been completed. Always gets what he wants. Undoubtedly he’s pulling the strings of one of those plans now.”

My cohort sat thoughtfully for a while. “You ever flown over the Night Court?”

“No. And I don’t plan to. Have you?”

“No. I don’t want to either,” he said. “Especially not with those Illyrians in the skies.” His eyes slid over to Rhysand’s Illyrians, who stood beside each other and spoke to no one else. The bigger one with the red gems was speaking to the other, the shadowsinger, who didn’t appear to reply at all.

Thesan and Rhysand reentered the chamber. Rhysand inspected me, my cohort, and the other members of Thesan’s entourage. Then waved a hand lazily at me. Thesan gaped for a moment, but nodded.

I bowed as my High Lord approached, Rhysand a step behind. “A word in private, please?” Thesan asked. My cohort bowed in acknowledgement and scurried away. Thesan gestured to Rhysand. “This is High Lord Rhysand of the Night Court.” The introduction was unnecessary even if we hadn’t already spoken, but I gave Rhysand a bow of respect anyway. “He and I have been discussing improving diplomatic relations between our courts for a while now, and he’s requested that you be the emissary from the Dawn Court to the Night Court.”

Push back, don’t be too eager, Rhysand’s voice said in my head, punching past my shield. I almost jolted. Instead, I kept that crack in my shield open. If he was going to guide me through this conversation, it’d be easier just to let him in. Just a little.

“I’m a soldier, my lord, not a diplomat,” I said. True enough.

“Yes, but Rhysand here has decided that you are the only one he will trust. For reasons of his own.” He shot a sharp look to the Lord of Night. One that Rhysand pretended he didn’t see—instead picking a speck of dust off his lapel. A speck that wasn’t there. He swept his hands over his lapels and gave me and Thesan a saccharine smile.

Push back a bit, but relent, Rhysand thought at me.

“I’m not sure I’m qualified, my lord. But… if it is what my duty requires, I will gladly serve,” I said.

Nice. You sure you’re not a diplomat?

Please don’t. I’m not accomplished at having two conversations at once while pretending one isn’t happening.

I felt his laughter rumbling through my head like thunder. Yet, he teased, tone sounding like he found something delicious.

High Lord Thesan smiled at me. “Thank you. Would a visit to the Night Court next week be alright?”

“My lord, whenever works best for you. I am at your service.”

Rhysand waved a hand. “Next week fits into my business well, actually.”

“Then we’ll plan on the initial visit for next week,” Thesan agreed.

Rhysand smirked. “Excellent.” He looked at me. “I look forward to your company.”

I bowed. “My lord,” I said.

He retreated. Good job, soldier. Welcome to a diplomat’s world.

Thesan gave me a serious look. “Be careful,” he said quietly. “And keep sensitive information to yourself.”

“Of course, my lord.”

Thesan left me alone too.

High Lord Rhysand? I reached out tentatively.

Call me Rhys. Please. I hate the over-the-top formality with friends. He was talking with his Illyrian warriors, wine in hand, never indicating he was having a secondary conversation.

Okay. Rhys… you do realize I’m going to have to report back actual diplomatic relations, right?

Of course. I already have plans for you to relay to Thesan. We actually have been talking about improving the relations between our courts. I’m killing two birds with one stone. No reason not to.

I wasn’t sure what to say to that. Thank you for offering to train me.

I’m doing it for your sake as well as mine—and everyone else’s here. Thank me after your training is finished, because you certainly won’t thank me during it.

I take it that it won’t be pleasant?

Working your mind like this never is.

I blinked. See you next week then?

He chuckled in my head. Until then.

I looked back over at him. He lifted his wine glass at me in a toast and gave me an over-exaggerated wink.

#Rhysand #Rhysand Imagine #Rhysand FanFiction #ACOTAR #ACOTAR Imagine #ACOTAR FanFiction #Diplomatic Daemati

[just-a-creep-babe]

Kinktober Day 31

Out with a Bang

Holy crap I finally ~finally~ finished it! This was not,,,,,,, the best of ideas I’ve ever had because holy fuck it was a lot

But I really really reALLY wanted to make something for the fellow simps (like yours truly) who just ~cannot~ decide which mans they want because, let’s be real, they’re all Snaccs and they all need that good lovin 😌👌

In hindsight, I wish I would’ve made Toby’s part a little longer, but alas, I think it might be too late to change that by now. Also, there’s a lot happening throughout all of this and it does feel rushed and just generally,, badly paced and stuff, but still, even if it might not be the absolute best, I’m relatively happy with the way it turned out :)

So, ah, anyways, quick warning for just,, more than I usually do for smutfics so read at your own risk!

And for those who do manage to get through this mess, well, I hope you can enjoy 😉💦

~Requests are closed~

Masterlist: x

Any tips are greatly appreciated! 

You squirm and try to suppress a whimper as strong, warm hands caress your front

You’re dizzy, nerves set ablaze with something hot and burning and wholly consuming—like nothing you’ve ever felt before

BEN tugs at your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, a wicked grin on his attractive features at the sound of your choked moan

“You like that, babe? Like being a little slut at the center of attention? Hm?”

His scarlet pupils flare mischievously as his free hand works to evenly pump at his cock

Before you can respond, your attention’s pulled away by Jeff jerking at your face, forcing you to look at him

You can barely react before he smashes his mouth against yours, chapped lips tasting of blood and something sweet

Your hands flutter up to him, fingers tangling into messy raven locks as you try to keep up

He wastes no time cramming his tongue down your throat, and the feeling almost has you forgetting about everyone else in the room watching

Almost

He growls against you, his body like a wall of muscle pushing you down harder against Hoodie’s lap—albeit probably unintentionally

Still, it has the proxy’s hard-on poking your naked thigh through the fabric of his jeans, his cock twitching eagerly in response

They’re all so hungry

Despite all the distractions trying to steal your attention away, you still reciprocate the kiss to the best of your abilities

It leaves you breathless and panting, your thoughts swimming, tugging at dark strands for a grip on something—anything

“Quit fucking hogging her mouth. I want those pretty lips wrapped around my dick”

Jeff grunts, pulling apart, breaking off a faint string of saliva in the process

There’s the sound of a belt unbuckling, and you look up, still dazed, just in time to see Masky undoing his pants and tugging himself free

“Fuck…” he breathes out a cuss, member springing out—just inches from your lips

He’s nice and thick with a prominent vein running along the underside of his shaft, and you can’t help but swallow thickly as he rubs at the precum beading up his tip

Despite still having his mask on, the bottom of it is still tilted up just enough to reveal his amused smirk

“You like what you see, sunshine?” he teases, slowly stroking over his length

When you bite your lip and nod, he takes it as all the permission he needs to wrap his hand into your hair, twirling a makeshift ponytail to use as leverage to bring you towards him

You accept him into your mouth without hesitation, swirling your tongue around the tip and watching as he throws his head back with a cuss, his fingers tightening in your scalp

You prop yourself up as best as you can, despite the others still gripping and groping at your body, to take him in all the way until he’s hitting the very back of your throat

Lifting yourself from Hoodie’s lap meets you with a strong smack! to your ass, followed by a husky chuckle as your hips buckle

Who you can only assume to be EJ, judging by the steadiness of his caress, trails his fingertips down the side of your torso and to the aching spot between your legs

Another pair of hands splits your thighs open, gripping flesh with a loving slap, before letting Jack take the lead and cup your heat, his thumb just barely teasing at your clit

Your eyes squeeze shut, a desperate muffled whimper sounding out from around Masky’s cock, which has him twitching and groaning huskily

Another harsh whap! stings the flesh of your ass and you whine again

“You shouldn’t talk with your mouth full,” Hoodie snickers

You don’t have time to push away and respond—not that Masky would’ve let you at this rate—before someone takes one of your hands and hesitantly presses it to their crotch

“(Y-y/n), can you—can you p-please touch me?”

You wrap your fingers around Toby’s bulge and his hips buckle, an adorable moan spilling from his lips

He’s quick and eager to undo his pants, his dick springing free with a slap to his lower abdomen, before he’s guiding your touch back to his stiff member

Your second hand is brought up to wrap around another erection, and this time you can hear Jeff hiss in a breath as you give him a long, slow stroke

“God, that’s so fucking hot,” BEN groans

He tugs at your nipples again, then leans in to take one between his teeth, watching as your movements stutter and your whole form stiffens

A lewd moan wrenches itself free from the back of your throat before you can catch it

There’s too much stimulation—they’re overwhelming

You don’t know what to focus on; it all just feels so good—you’re absolutely powerless to do anything but let them have their way with you

Jack’s long, elegant finger prods at your entrance before slipping into your sopping cunt

He slowly twists his digit against your fluttering walls and then pushes in a second one

Your whole body trembles, and you choke on a moan as your cunt immediately clenches around him like a vice—all too eager

You’re out of breath, your throat’s raw and your lungs are burning

You’ve no choice but to pull away from Masky’s to cough and splutter, another string of saliva still connecting you to him before finally snapping off

The way their eyes roam over your form, drinking you in, soaking up every detail you have to offer, it’s borderline humiliating

Even the most seasoned sex worker would flush at the attention

“You feel so tight around my fingers” Jack’s voice is thick and husky, hardly above a whisper but you somehow hear him loud and clear

His fingers move slowly and methodically, coaxing a ridiculous amount of slick from your eager opening

It has you squirming, trying to get him to move faster because fuck, you need more, but Masky’s grasp tightens around the crown of your skull and it forces you still

You expect him to cram himself down your throat again, but instead, he just smacks his cock against your cheeks a good few times and it has you whimpering, muscles clenching madly in delight

“Such a good, eager little cockslut, aren’t you?” he chuckles

He releases his grip and instead strokes himself a good few times, using your own saliva as lubricant

“(Y-y/n)...”

Toby’s gaze suddenly catches yours, a light blush dusting his cheeks, his pupils blown wide and clouded with lust

He hesitantly comes closer until you manage to bring his member into your mouth, tongue flattening against the underside of his tip before taking him all in and swallowing him down

It’s difficult to work, to say the least, when BEN’s lavishing your chest with attention, Hoodie’s kneading at the fresh marks on your ass and Jack’s fucking you on his fingers, but you do the best you can

Toby unwinds into a shuddering, moaning mess at the command of your mouth

The way he squirms and gasps as you suck him off hard and slow, gazing up at his reaction through long lashes, is somehow both endearing and horribly sinful at the same time

You can tell he’s starting to get close when Jack hits something blindingly wonderful inside you, and it has you pushing away from Toby, your back arching with a breathless cry as adrenaline races up your system

“Here, (y/n)? That where it feels good?” he murmurs, his voice a low, deep rumble thick with arousal

You nod eagerly, trying to splutter out an affirmation, but the most you can manage are broken moans and pleas as he toys with the spongy spot deep inside your fleshy walls

“J-jack, fuck—s-shit!”

You try to hump against his fingers, your orgasm building way too quickly, and when Hoodie reaches around to jerk at your clit, your whole body buckles, core convulsing tightly and thighs shuddering on top of him

The others pull back, and you’re more than fully aware of how they’re all stroking themselves while watching you, but you’re far too horny to care

Your hands scramble to grip onto Jack and Hoodie’s forearms, feeling their muscles tense beneath smooth skin as they pump and rub your sopping sex until you’re throwing your head back and crying out from the stimulation

Euphoria reverberates throughout your whole body, but just as you’re about to cum, Jack pulls his fingers out and Hoodie quits playing with your clit, only to give a quick, light smack to your cunt and chuckle when you whine in protest

“N-no, fuck—please!”

You try to reach down to alleviate yourself but Masky stops you before you can, forcing your hand back to stroke at his member with a tsk

“Little slut’s getting impatient, aren’t you, baby?” BEN coos, “You want us all to take turns fucking you nice and good, don’t you? I bet your brain‘s turning to mush just thinking about it, isn’t it?“

He gives a good few mocking pats to your cheeks and chuckles

“I bet I can fuck her better than any of you shit-heads can”

Jeff’s gruff promise is all the warning he provides before settling himself between your split legs

He leans in and spits onto your cunt, not that you need the extra lubrication, before then rubbing the head of his member between your ridiculously slick folds

“You gonna be a good bitch at the tip of my dick, (y/n)?”

You nod eagerly, trying to hold back the obscenities threatening to spill

And then all at once, he snaps his hips forwards—shoving himself all in one motion without mercy

His scarred grin twitches at the way you cry out and moan around him

Your head rolls back, chest arching up, allowing different hands to roam over your tits and toy with your nipples, others wrapping around your neck and feeling your breath catch into your throat in response

“That’s a good slut~” Jeff snickers

He pulls out, ever so slowly, and then he slams back into you again

“Jeff—fuck!”

Your whole body’s burning up, tremors of arousal rolling through you with every ounce of attention you’re receiving

Jack snakes his hand back to your front, between you and Jeff, to rub at your throbbing bundle of nerves while Hoodie gathers up your slick between his fingers to envelop around his member

And even though you’re expecting it, it still knocks the breath out of you as he pushes into you from behind—and you’re absolutely stuffed with the both of them

“So fucking tight~” Hoodie groans

He palms up your thighs, gripping your flesh, forcing you to wriggle and grind against his pulsing cock nestled deep inside of you

BEN yanks your chin up to look at him, chuckling at the dazed, glossy look in your eyes and your parted lips

You’re nearly drooling at the feeling, thoughts completely fuzzy and overwhelmed

Your cheeks are squeezed together, the entity toying with your bottom lip with his thumb before he’s bringing his member to your lips and you’ve no choice but to take him into your mouth

You squirm, eyes squeezing shut, swallowing down the taste of his precum as hands—and you don’t even know whose they are at this point—wrap around your thighs and toy with various parts of your body

It’s too much

With every harsh thrust, Jeff forces himself harder and faster into you—practically ramming into you while Hoodie hits deeper inside you

The way they both fuck into you—and Jack’s steady hands rubbing at your clit, you can’t keep up

You’re breathless and shaking and gagging on BEN’s dick, tears blurring your vision, until all at once, you finally cum with a strangled, muffled cry

Your eyes roll back, lids falling shut, back arching and shudders rocking through your whole body

“Fuck—fuck she’s already fucking cuming!”

Jeff throws his head back with a snarl as you clench impossibly tight around him

Hoodie groans behind you as well, hands bruising your thighs as BEN thrusts into your welcoming mouth and his cock hits deeper down your throat

Your muscles seize, pleasure and euphoria rocking through your body in seemingly endless waves

The stimulation’s so overwhelming that it’s nearly painful

Your vision clouds, stars dancing behind your eyelids, until Jack finally moves his hand away from your throbbing clit

But Jeff and Hoodie don’t relent

Their paces only grow more frantic and eager, all the more desperate to fuck into your welcoming holes and feel you tense so wonderfully around them

You try to swallow back your cries but you can hardly control yourself—especially not with BEN twitching between your soft lips wrapped up so nicely around him

The other hands grasping at your form toy with your body like you’re theirs

Fingers wrap into your hair and twist at the roots of your strands, tugging and pulling until you’re forced to take the cock into your mouth even deeper

“God, you’re s-so fucking pretty~”

You can hardly hear Toby’s voice through your own muffled whines and needy pleas

Try as you might, you can’t stop squirming and jerking from the overstimulation

Your throat’s raw from being fucked so thoroughly, especially coupled with the shameless moans that keep spilling free

Everything’s too intense

Your hands are brought up to wrap around their throbbing members, coaxing quiet groans and hushed moans to accompany your own muffled mewls

Hoodie’s pace grows until you know he’s getting close, and already, you can feel your second orgasm just teetering on the verge of crashing into you

A hard smack to your ass has you jerking, skin burning and tingling and no doubt covered in red prints

Jeff then immediately slams into you—either jealous of the attention you’re giving the others or equally close to release

But either way, his relentless pounding is enough to have you cuming again already

And your second orgasm’s blinding

Everything inside you seizes

Your muscles recoil from the shock, adrenaline and ecstasy racing through your bloodstream like it never has before

Your toes curl, legs wrapping tighter around Jeff, who releases a string of filthy cusses and snarls

“God—fuck!”

A couple more mind-melting thrusts and he stutters inside you, hips movingly sloppily until you feel his seed filling you up to the brim

Hands tug at your nipples, stroking and savoring your skin, even as you’re pumped full of cum

Hoodie follows soon after—his strong, calloused palms forcing you down so that your seated on his throbbing dick and he’s as deep as he can get

He grinds up into you as he cums, hands moving up to briefly wrap around your neck before returning to settle at your waist

“Such a—such a good slut!” BEN pants, groaning and moaning, “Fuck! Fuck! I’m gonna cum!”

He throws his head back with a moan, hips jolting into your mouth until the taste of him fills up the back of your throat

You pull away from him, coughing and spluttering, only to notice the others also nearing their end

Toby whimpers, his cock twitching incessantly in his grasp, and when you glance up to look at him, it’s all it takes for him to come undone

He release all over your chest, painting white streaks of his seed, until Masky’s yanking you by the hair and bringing your face to his cock so he can cum all over it

You instinctively squeeze your eyes shut, lips falling open with your tongue out and ready to taste him, though most of it misses and hits your cheek instead

“Such a filthy little morsel~”

Jack’s voice is deep, dark and gravelly, his whole form shuddering from the pleasure raking up his system as he works his cock

You reach over to help him out as well, wrapping your lips around his tip to hollow out your cheeks and suck—hard

It has him making what’s possibly the sexiest sound you’ve ever heard

His hips buckle, pushing his member further down your throat, and the moan you make is finally what it takes to send him over the edge

There’s so much of it

Try as you might to swallow it all down, you can’t, and it ends up dripping down your chin and all over your neck, right down to your chest and between your thighs

You’re a mess

Your whole body’s slick and filthy and you’re absolutely spent

Jeff finally pulls out, leaving more cum dripping out of you, but you’re far too exhausted to care

Just as you’re about to get off of Hoodie, you feel him press you back down

“Ah ah ah, who said we were done with you just yet, Princess?~”

His voice is a low hum at your neck, followed by the soft warmth of his lips pressing to your skin

You squirm, feeling yourself flush even through your exhaustion

The only word you manage to pant out is a dazed and confused, pathetic little “W-what?”

Masky snickers

He rakes his hand through your scalp, tugging gently at the roots of your hair to pull your attention back up towards him

“Don’t worry sunshine, we’ll do all the work for you. You just have to be a good little girl and fucking take it~”

#creepypasta #creepypasta x reader smut #creepypasta x reader #x reader smut #kinktober #creepypasta kinktober