#THIS one has been in the drafts for forever. just found it

[oliviaischillin1204]

a few days ago i found this post deep in my drafts of my other blog. this is an absolutely adorable hurt/comfort tfic, but when i tell u this fic has literally. LITERALLY. stayed crystal clear in my mind for fucking years, not bc of the tickling scenes, but because of the first half of the fic. rambly positive thoughts under the cut, but i really recommend reading the fic first to understand what i'm talking about. TLDR i love this fic, and if the turtle anon who originally wrote it is still on tumblr at all PLEASE hmu so i can give u my very ecstatic kudos directly

this is,,,, one of the most earnest, most gentle fics i've ever seen. everything about kid logan makes me want to cry. it's not even just like cuteness agression, but it's really like,,, he's so young. he's SO amazingly in character, like this is exactly what he would talk like if canon logan were a little kid. everything about what the other kids say about him, to how he tries to rationalize it- and his DIALOGUE, my fucking god. “the books tell me to ignore it and they’ll stop, but I have ignored it and they don’t stop. And I sometimes wish I was a robot because…because then I wouldn’t feel it" breaks my fucking heart in half. AND later on, “I feel bad, and I don’t understand it"- that's such a succinct explanation of how little logan would react to his emotions. it's moving, it's sad, it's comforting, patton is a very good cousin, roman and virgil are cute babies lol. and i fucking love, love, LOVE this little logan. i would read 100 more fics by this anon with these characterizations.

also it's such a blessing and a curse that Turtle is such a common anon tag bc i can think of at least 2 other turtles who have been in this corner of the TFB community yet i have no earthly idea if THIS turtle is the same as THOSE turtles. but pleaseeeeeee PLEASE GOD I AM BEGGING if you are the anon who originally submitted this fic to Cef 7 years ago, PLEASE COME INTO MY INBOX!!! im being fucking fr i think you're an excellent writer and even if u never wrote anything else, i want you to know this fic has impacted me for years now and i'll remember it forever.

Stomachache

Summary: Patton is babysitting his three younger cousins. The oldest, Logan, says that he is sick and can’t go to school, but Patton can tell that something else is going on.

Pairings: platonic/familial LAMP, mainly Logicality

Words: 2,597

Content warnings: mention of illness, li'l bit of lying, discussion about bullying and dehumanization, crying, alexythemia, tickling.

Notes: Hello! Anonymous Turtle here again to drop a tiny!Sides angsty/hurt-comfort/fluffy fic! Enjoy! <3

Patton was staying over at his cousins’ house on a Thursday this time. His community college schedule was so much easier to work with for babysitting than his high school schedule had been, and his aunts were grateful for his help, since they were so busy with their business and travels.

Sitting in the living room while Virgil read a book and Roman ran around, rescuing stuffed animals from various precarious situations, Patton hadn’t expected Logan to come out of his room before dinner. He was usually busy with his homework. But Logan had been particularly quiet all day, and he came into the living room looking pale and tired.

Keep reading

[runforthehillsbestie]

Sympathy For The Devil

Part 6 - home in the stars

Read the story context and warnings here

It's been four days since you arrived at the Hewitt house, and today's weather is the hottest it's been yet. Luda Mae is fanning herself as she rocks on the porch, the rocking chair squeaking with each push of her foot. Her twin stitches are thin and spidery at her hairline.

"Mercy, it's hot enough to fry an egg out here," she says, and she's probably not wrong.

The mid-morning sun is glaring down with a viciousness that causes even the birds to go still. Nothing but a hiss of dry wind now and then, which only serves to stir up warm drafts and somehow make the heat even worse. You're dressed in cut-off jean shorts and a white spaghetti strap top that you found in the closet. It's washed, but there's a huge stain on it.

You're not wearing a bra and Monty has tried just about everything to get a look at your nipples through your shirt, much to your annoyance. You rest your head against the porch railing and gaze out over the unused farmland that's now covered in weeds and dry grass. The air in the distance shimmers a bit.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Luda Mae questions.

"My mother used to get cranky when the weather was hot," you murmur.

"I don't blame her," Luda Mae says. "Feels like hell opened up."

Just then an unfamiliar figure comes into view around a rusty old truck parked down by the fence, trudging up to the house with a basket tucked under their arm. You tense at the sight of the stranger, but they're approaching with ease like they know this place. Uncle Monty's dog confirms this by wagging his tail once, then flopping his head back down on the floorboards with a groan.

"Oh, look," Luda Mae says. "If it isn't Henrietta!"

Oh, you recall hearing that name before.

"It's quite the day, isn't it?" The small woman says with a smile as she comes to a stop at the bottom of the stairs.

She has a long-sleeved cardigan on despite the heat and the dress underneath is faded grey from being worn and washed and hung out in the sun. Her feathery, short hair clings to her sweaty forehead.

"Who's this?" She looks at you curiously.

Luda Mae says your name like it's familiar on her tongue, as though she's known you forever.

"This is a first," Henrietta says with a blink. Her voice is soft and hesitant.

"We're keeping this one!" Luda Mae says, leaning over to stroke your hair.

You give Henrietta a weak smile.

"Here." She extends the basket to you. "A little gift to welcome you to the family."

The basket is full of green beans. You burst into a spontaneous laugh.

"Oh, I used to hate these when I was younger!"

Henrietta's smile fades, and her face goes blank, like the face of a mannequin.

"You don't like them?"

"Oh, I do! Um, thank you," you say hastily, and the smile returns to her face like the sun from behind a cloud.

"Good," she says. "I should go. I need to look after the baby."

"Take care of yourself, now," Luda Mae says.

Henrietta turns and shuffles back the way she came, clutching her arms around herself as though she's cold.

"Is she family?" You ask.

"Something like that," Luda Mae says. "Give me half of those beans. If we snap 'em now we'll have something green for dinner. Some sort of stew, I'm thinking."

The screen door slams and Sheriff Hoyt marches onto the porch with his rifle balanced against his shoulder, like he too has had enough of the heat. "I'm gonna go shoot us some game."

Luda Mae snorts. "What are you going to shoot, Charlie?"

"Eh, I'll find something. We're running out of meat as it is. Where'd those beans come from?"

"Henrietta. I'll have to repay the favor later and send something by," Luda Mae says, snapping a bean.

Sheriff Hoyt tromps down the stairs and gets into his car. The engine rattles and then coughs to life. You watch the car pull away, resting your chin on your palm.

"Where's Tommy? I haven't seen him all morning," you say several minutes later.

"I have him mending some things for me down in the basement. I'd have done it myself, but it makes my head hurt," Luda Mae says. As if she can guess your thoughts she adds, "You sit here and finish up with those beans, girl. Then you can go to him."

You blush and dig back into the basket, poking your thumbnail into a bean and yanking out the stringy part.

"You know, it's good of you to treat him so kindly," Luda Mae murmurs after a while. "He ain't ever had that before."

"He looks scarier than he is," you reply, lifting your shoulder in a shrug. "I'm good at figuring out how people are on the inside."

"Well, that's far more than I can say for those children he used to go to school with," Luda Mae tuts. "Nothing hurts the pride more than rejection."

You look up. "Did he ever try to befriend them?"

"I think he knew his place long before anyone tried to put him in it." She shakes her head and rocks some more, lost in her thoughts.

You're also thinking of your childhood. You never had anyone throw rocks or piss on you like Jeremy said they'd done to Tommy, but there had been other things. Mean words the other kids would throw your way, the filthiest curses they could come up with because they thought it was funny to see how it made you blush bright red. The boys would grab you in places they shouldn't, asking if you had scripture verses rolled up and stuck in there. It was a mercy when your father decided to start homeschooling you at twelve, just as puberty started to hit you.

You bite down your tongue until the sting of pain anchors you back in the present, on the porch you're perched on. You take a deep grounding breath. You'll take being here over being back with your father. By the time you're done with the beans, your hands are sticky and smell like crushed leaves.

"What do I do with them?" You ask as you stand with the basketful.

"Soak them in some salt water and just let them stand until we need them," Luda Mae says, getting comfortable in her chair and closing her eyes. You do as she has asked, leaving the pot of salt water and beans on the stove for later.

You wash your hands and dry them hastily on your shirt before you head down to the basement, easing the heavy door open. You hear the rhythmic clatter of a sewing machine. Surely it would be better to sew in natural light, but Thomas probably finds it more comfortable down here. It's also far cooler, you realize as you make your way down the stairs. The pleasant change in temperature livens you up and puts a spring in your step. Tommy is sitting at his work table. He glances up, his eyes dark and searching.

"Hi," you murmur.

He grunts and spins the wheel some more, leaning in to examine the work he's engrossed in, his grubby fingers turning over the material. You inch a little closer so you can watch. His movements are comfortable and familiar and he handles the sewing machine with ease. The needle stabs through the fabric in a blur. After a few moments, he holds up the pillowcase. The tear has been neatly sown together and it looks almost as good as new.

"Did Luda Mae teach you?"

He nods, glancing at you again, perhaps wondering why you're down here bothering him while he's trying to work.

"Can I help?"

He tilts his head.

"I know I'm not very good at sewing, and I don't know how to use the machine, but I can patch up small holes?" You say hoping you can stay here a while longer.

He remains quiet, thinking.

"There's nothing else to do." You admit. "I'm bored."

He lifts his hand to his jaw and scratches, then he points at the chair in the corner, the same one Charlie made you sit on for your 'punishment' on the second day. You drag it over and set it at the side of the worktable, glancing at him to see if he's okay with that. He plucks a pair of plaid boxers from the pile and holds them out to you. There are a myriad of small holes approximately where the balls should be. You can't help but snicker.

"Are these for Hoyt? What on earth does he do with them?"

At least they're clean, you think to yourself, picking up a needle and proceeding to spend an entire minute trying to thread the damn thread through.

You steal a glance at Tommy to find that he's watching you, one big forearm resting on the table. You jump as you somehow manage to prick your finger and look back at the needle.

"Dammit," you mumble quietly.

He reaches out and you flinch out of habit, anticipating a pinch on the arm for your failure.

"Sorry," you mumble.

He takes the thread from you and lifts it to his mouth. You see a pink flash of his tongue through the mouth hole of the mask as he licks the end of the thread. Then he takes the needle and slips the thread through on the first try and hands it back to you.

"Thanks." You hunker over and dutifully get to work.

Your work is hardly perfect, but the threads are sturdy and will hold. You fall into a rhythm, and when you're done with what you're working on, you go to another piece of fabric. A shirt. Too big for Hoyt and too big for skinny old Monty. There's a single tear in the back.

This is one of Tommy's shirts.

You get to work on it, putting in extra care and trying to make it as neat as possible, trying to guess what could've made that tear. Something fairly sharp, like scissors, maybe, because the edges are barely frayed. You're so engrossed in your work that you startle when Tommy hooks his fingers under your chair and drags the whole thing closer to him. You peer at him over your eyebrows, a silent question on your face. His palm presses against the middle of your back, applying pressure.

You pause with the needle half-pulled through the material, trying to guess what he wants. You soothe your dry lips with a sweep of your tongue. Your gaze darts between his legs, almost subconsciously. He catches your jaw and you look up at him in confusion. This time he presses one hand to your shoulder while the other nudges your back, applying pressure from both sides and forcing you to straighten. He grunts and turns back to his work. You were bent over like a shrimp, you realize. Your mother used to scold you for that. Tommy was correcting your horrible posture.

"That's sweet of you." You reach out to touch his forearm, and he huffs and plucks your hand away, pointing to the shirt.

He wants you to carry on. This is an important task and you're not going to distract him from mending every single item in that basket. Intrigued, you watch him. There's no way you can't tempt him to take a break and do something else more interesting, right? You surreptitiously drop your needle on the floor.

"Oh, whoops. I guess I'll have to get that," you say dramatically.

Your knees thunk softly against the floor. Of course, you don't need to do all that just for a needle. You could've just reached down and picked it up. Instead, you crawl under the table and get comfy between Tommy's legs, scratching your nails gently against the worn fabric of his pants. The sewing machine comes to a rattling halt as he pauses. Boldly, you press your cheek against his knee. He smells like musk and salt and iron, a scent that is slowly becoming familiar to you. He leans back in the chair and looks over his stomach, down at you. His hands rest against his thighs, fingers twitching idly. You take one of those paws and press it against your face. You want him to touch you, you have the sudden urge to be close to him, a pull so strong it makes your eyes water a little. His fingers fan out, mapping your face. His fingers pluck and squish at your cheeks and smooth over your eyebrows like he's memorizing you.

You don't close your eyes, not even when his fingers get dangerously close, brushing over your eyelashes. He takes your jaw and turns your head to the side, callused fingertips following the curve of your ear downwards, pressing lightly against the vein that thumps just underneath your jaw. A warm feeling settles in your stomach. You want to take the initiative for once and suck him off just because you can. You barely manage to cup his bulge before he's suddenly standing and lifting you off the ground with him, his hands hooked under your armpits. The world spins for a moment before he deposits you neatly back in your chair. He gives you the needle and a ragged dishcloth to mend and pats you on the head with a heavy, awkward hand. Your mouth drops open, realizing you've been put to work again.

"Hey," you protest.

The air that puffs out of his mouth almost sounds like a laugh. After that you're content to simply sit in companionable silence, your drifting mind lulled into a state of calm by the rhythmic whir of the sewing machine. Sitting with him is also fine, you decide. Half an hour later the peace is broken by the distant yelling voice of Sheriff Hoyt.

"Tommy!"

Tommy cocks his head, listening.

"Get your ass out here!"

Tommy's chair scrapes back as he stands. The ground trembles with the weight of his steps. He grabs a wickedly curved metal hook from the wall and bounds up the stairs, the quickest you've ever seen him move. You scurry after him into the bright sunlight outside the house. The sun is still high in the sky. You're expecting some kind of trouble, so when you see Sheriff Hoyt casually standing there with his hands on his hips, you pause. Tommy looks confused as well, sweeping the area with his gaze. There are no intruders to be found. It's just Sherrif Hoyt with a piece of rope in his hand that leads to the neck of a comically round brown cow. Reality seems to cleave in two. This can't be.

"Daisy?" You gasp in amazement.

At the sound of her name, the cow perks up, dragging the Sheriff forward as she trots up to you. You come down from the porch to sling your arms around her damp, warm neck. It is Daisy!

"This cow is yours?" Sheriff Hoyt gnaws on whatever is in his mouth and spits on the floor. "How can that be? You live round these parts?"

"In the next town over," you say. "It's pretty far from here, though. I didn't even know Fuller existed."

Sheriff Hoyt startles like he's been shot. "I thought you came from someplace far, Missy! Why didn't you say anything?"

"You never asked," you reply, petting the short velvety fur of Daisy's neck.

His eyes narrow and he thumbs the gun holster at his hip. "You got somebody?"

"No." Your response is short and dry.

"Any family?" He prods.

You laugh, the sound flat and dark. "My father probably hopes I'm dead. No one is going to come looking for me."

"Hmmm," he scrutinizes you. "So you're all alone."

"Which is what you want, isn't it?" You meet his eyes.

"You'd better hope you're telling the truth," he replies. "'Cause it won't be too hard to put a bullet in you yet."

"What's all the noise for, waking me from my nice nap," Luda Mae mumbles as she steps out onto the porch, squinting. "A cow? Where'd you get that?"

"It was wandering around on the edge of town. Looking for water, I'll bet," Sheriff Hoyt says. "Well, I got us supper."

"We can't eat her!" You protest. "She's mine!"

Sheriff Hoyt raises his scruffy eyebrows. "You wanna rethink those words, girl?"

"I-I mean, she's pregnant," you shrink under the Sheriff's cold eyes, feeling a chill pass over you despite the heat. "If we wait until she calves then we'll have two cows."

Sheriff Hoyt grins. "Persuasive, ain't ya? You could sell a porno to a priest if you had a mind to!"

"So we won't butcher her?" You ask cautiously.

"Nah, we'll wait." Sheriff Hoyt strolls towards the porch steps. "Besides," he says, leaning in to hiss in your ear, "Veal tastes much better than some dried-up old cow."

He clomps up the stairs and calls over his shoulder, "Tie her out in the field. Plenty of grass to fatten her up!"

You take the frayed rope collar and tug at it. Daisy is fully grown now, but she follows you all the same, just like when she was a calf herself. Your boyfriend had bought the bony little thing as a birthday present for you and it was the one nice thing he ever did. Having her with you now feels like a gift from heaven. You sniffle, trying to keep from crying.

"Don't listen to that crusty old man, Daisy. Nothing is going to happen to you."

You lead her to an old post and tie her up there, crouching to murmur sweet little nothings into her ear utterly delighted to have your animal friend. Thomas watches from where he's standing by the house, absentmindedly scraping his thumb against the sharp edge of the metal hook he no longer needs. Never in his life has he seen anyone care about a cow. As far as he knows, all they're good for is the slaughterhouse.

* * * *

Dinner smells heavenly, but now that you know what meat you're having, it dampens your hunger.

"Why don't you say the grace tonight, dear?" Luda Mae asks.

You clear your throat and rattle through the Grace. Luda Mae looks surprised at how easily it comes to you.

"Well, ain't that a regular sermon!" Sheriff Hoyt sneers. "You sound just like a preacher."

"My father was something of the sort," you say, and then you wish you could take it back.

Why do I ever open my mouth, you wonder to yourself.

Sheriff Hoyt doesn't care, but Luda Mae is excited, asking you what your favorite book in the bible is. The answer is automatic, Psalms. You have the whole thing memorized, pretty much. From there she asks about your favorite chapter, then the verse. The memories begin to resurface, and you can almost feel the pain in your knees again from kneeling on the hardwood floor and reciting the Psalms. It was one of your father's favorite punishments. Somehow he always knew when you'd stopped kneeling properly and would stomp into the cleaning closet to yank you back onto your sore knees. When you grew older you realized he would often watch you through the keyhole, and that's how he knew. For the longest time you really believe he was like god and knew everything.

"Dear?" Luda Mae says.

"Yes?" You blink rapidly and look at her.

"Eat your food. Everything, now. You need the strength."

You swallow hard and look at the meat you've been served. The pieces are fried, lying in a glistening pile next to the string beans, which are salty and buttery. Sheriff Hoyt is eyeing you, licking grease from his lips.

"You go on now," he says. "You need the protein. Of course, if this doesn't suit your tastes we've got ourselves a nice cow out there. Tommy can butcher it up real nice for you."

Those words feel like a fist that wraps around your heart and squeezes.

I can't, you think to yourself, but you're mechanically spearing a piece on your fork and lifting it to your mouth. I'm doing it for Daisy. Dear, innocent Daisy.

Sheriff Hoyt watches you like a hawk as you chew. You can tell he's waiting for you to choke or push your plate away. He's itching to punish you but he needs a good excuse to do it. You try to think of anything other than the slightly tough meat you're chewing on.

You dart a glance at Tommy but his head is bowed over his food. He has stopped putting his face in his food after Luda Mae scolded him twice for eating like that in front of you, but he still forgoes the utensils, choosing to eat with his hands instead. He doesn't balk or hesitate at all. How could you forget what he is? Hot tears spring to your eyes.

I hate you, you want to blurt out. I hate all of you horrible people.

But you don't. You pick at another piece and chew it halfway before you choke it down. Sheriff Hoyt finally grunts and looks down at his plate. You eat about half before you really can't manage anymore. Nobody says anything though, and the rest of it goes to Uncle Monty's dog.

After dinner, the house grows quiet. Uncle Monty is in the living room, leafing through magazines of skimpily clad women, and Sheriff Hoyt and Luda Mae are in the kitchen arguing about something. Tommy is off somewhere, and you wonder if it'll be pushing your luck if you go to find him. You're still contemplating this when you see the dark, fat shape of Daisy moving through the grass, the rope trailing freely from her neck. You know how she likes to run off whenever she can all too well, so you push open the door and go out to snag the rope. She blinks her long-lashed eyes at you, grass sticking out of her mouth as she chews leisurely.

"How dare you look innocent," you murmur. "You chewed through the rope."

There's a fenced area just a little further out where she'll be safe for the night and you won't have to worry about her escaping. You begin to walk her there. The moment you walk out of the pool of light coming from the house the front door crashes open and Tommy comes storming out. He looks angry, and he's coming right at you. You're reminded of just how huge he is as he easily covers the distance in a couple of strides. He could squash you by accident without even trying.

"Tommy," you say warily. "I wasn't trying to run, I swear. Daisy got loose..."

The rope slips out of your hand and the troublemaking cow in question begins to walk off, but you barely notice, distracted by the large man who looks like he's going to square up with you and knock your teeth out. Well, maybe not, but you never know. You've had your fair share of men who are nothing like who they pretend to be. Your brain is flipping between freezing or fleeing. You take a step back and stumble on a loose rock. The rush of adrenaline from almost falling kicks your brain into flight mode. You burst into a disoriented jog to nowhere in particular, just away.

Tommy chases you with a low growl. You're running simply because you're not sure what will happen if he catches you, now that you've made him angry. The noises rumbling out of him are the promise of your undoing. You only manage to take a couple more stuttered steps before he grabs you, his fingers locking around your upper arm and pulling you up short. Your ears ring.

"No," you shriek, "let me go!"

You flail like a fish on a hook, digging your feet into the ground. Your shoulder pops as you strain to pull away. You're back in that cramped, musty cabin, teeth chattering as your furious father rattles you like a doll. That was always the awful part, how you were unable to get away. He was bigger than you, and could nearly throw you across the hall if he wanted to... A sharp slap on your cheek grounds you, and you just stand there and blink dumbly at the man in front of you. His chest is heaving and his dark brown eyes are filled with something. Concern that he's broken you somehow. You're shocked. You've never panicked this badly before.

"I..." Your mouth opens and closes, but no more words come out.

You're present again, standing in the stifling heat of an early evening, crickets chirping and fireflies blinking in the grass. A brief wind flutters Tommy's hair and he pats it down, then reaches out and rubs your cheek like he's attempting to soothe away the slap.

Sorry, his touch seems to say, I didn't know what else to do, how else to reach you.

You stare at each other. Impulsively, you throw your arms around his stocky midriff and bury your face in his chest.

"I'm okay," you mumble, and you mean it.

For a long moment, Tommy stands absolutely still, then his arms curl around you and pull you closer. Contentment creates a safe bubble around you and for a moment you allow yourself to relax and let go of everything but him. Up at the house a door slams, and your eyes blink open just in time to see Sheriff Hoyt disappearing inside. A twinkle high above catches your attention. There's not a single wisp of cloud in the sky tonight, so the stars look like a glittering blanket wrapped around the Earth.

"Look at the sky, Tommy," you sigh. "Isn't it beautiful?"

Tommy doesn't look up, though. He looks at you.

Inside the house, Sheriff Hoyt is scratching an itchy spot on his neck and glaring out the window.

"So are they lovebirds now or what?" He demands. "Look at that whore, cozying up to him."

"Leave them be," Luda Mae says pulling the curtains over the window to block his gaze.

"She's gonna make Tommy go soft," he mutters, squinting through a hole in the threadbare drapes.

"Well, Tommy could use some softness," she replies, idly touching a hand to her neck. "I've never seen him like this. Not that I can remember anyway."

"Seen him like what, all weak in the knees?" He scoffs.

"At peace."

Part 7 - (Coming Soon!)

@typicalchaos, @slut4acotar, @lovelymindescape, @dabisnympho, @thetoastghost222, @night-shadowblood-writes2, @erosmutt, @lilaclichh and @jillian-mill asked to be tagged! I'll add anyone else who asks <3

@runforthehillsbestie

[bluejayadler]

Thoughts on this post?

https://www.tumblr.com/do-be-careful-charles/786662921427206144?source=share

I thought it was fascinating and and fun and would love to hear someone else's thoughts on it.

Parallels!

So I received this ask in my inbox from an anonymous human, and it has given me an excuse to talk about parallels!

Now, the OP mentions Edwin being paralleled with Wilfred, the WWI ghost, and Charles being paralleled with Hope Devlin. But someone in the tags also brings up Crystal with Esther and Niko with Mick. So we're gonna look at all the Core 4 and their parallels.

Parallels are used in narrative and storytelling for a few different reasons. Largely its to compare or contrast two points or things - two parallel scenes might show progression along an arc, two parallel characters might show diverging character arcs or converging character arcs - loss of self of one character, reclamation of identity, the fall, the rise! So many things. 

Edwin to WW1 ghost - this was a fate he could've had, but the sad thing is, that even though he escaped this fate, he really didn't. WWI and WWII battlefields, like most warzones, were described as Hell. Edwin died the year the draft was initiated. Sure, he wasn't old enough yet, but he may have still ended up drafted soon enough. Edwin actual death involved him being sacrificed to Hell - figurative or literal hell, no autonomy or agency in ending up there. Edwin's parallel is essentially a reflection. Also consider that there would've been a good chance he died MIA or ended up buried as an unknown soldier. Edwin may have been lost the No Man's Land and Hell just as easily. He didn't really "escape" this parallel fate but rather endured a more twisted version of it.

Charles to Hope - again, this is a fate Charles could've had but still basically did, in a twisted way. Hope tries to leave home and is murdered before she can. Charles does leave home, off to boarding school, but still ends up murdered. You'd have to wonder if Charles saw Hope and thought, just for a second, "even if she left, nothing would've changed" because, that was the truth for him. He escaped and then didn't. The fact is, either fate would've left him murdered by someone meant to care for him and protect him, someone he was meant to trust. And I don't think Charles would've found any more justice if he'd been killed by his own father. Child abuse is grossly under investigated, and even when it is, is very under-punished. Charles's father may not have received any real punishment, if he got caught at all. If anyone even cared.

I think the big thing for me with the boys and their parallels is that they both still essentially had their fated death! But also, them having their parallel in front of them fits so well with the themes of justice and "we didn't matter". Parallels in story telling serve a few different purposes - usually around comparing and contrasting. Often its holding a character up against an older or younger version of themselves (either literal version of themself or just representative/figurative version) and saying "this is what you could become" or "this is what you could've been". With Charles and Edwin, its oddly both or kinda neither. Sorry, I should be asleep. These are what they could've been and, at the same time, what they could become - Charles could become trapped in a loop of his own pain (and he kinda does) and Edwin could be cursed to forever live through that Hell again (which, again, kinda almost happens). Edwin and Charles both "escaped" that parallel outcome, but not really. 

But their parallel is less about comparison to me, and more about the theme of justice. Again, parallels can be used for different things. In the case of Edwin and Charles, I think it helps highlight a core theme of the show.

Going back to the "we didn't matter" scene (amazing scene) - Edwin says "we didn't matter, so these cases matter. They have to matter." And I think this is what their parallels more play towards. Edwin and Charles come face to face with their parallels, but they are able to give those parallel ghosts something they didn't get - some level of justice or closure. And its not perfect by any shot of the imagination. Charles and Edwin don't PREVENT tragedy, just like no one prevented theirs. Given how against taking a living client Edwin is in ep 1, it's easy to imagine they do it VERY rarely, so unless they are hired by a ghost to save someone, they are coming in AFTER the tragedy occurs. That is also the nature of a detective who usually investigates AFTER the tragedy. The boys aren't preventing their parallels but they are allowing the next part of the story to be different. They see the parallel in their cases, some as strong as Hope and Wilfred, and others as not. But they don't leave their parallel in the same place. They step in - something that wasn't done for them.

And its interesting how they interact with these parallels - or rather, with each others parallels. Charles is the one that steps in with Wilfred. He offers him closure in that moment. And this makes sense for his character - Charles is the more positive one, the more social one. It tracks he'd be the one focused on that while Edwin was focused on leaving before the blue light came. But, Charles is also the one that offers Edwin safety too, the way Edwin offered it to him. Charles, in that moment, becomes to Wilfred what Edwin was for him in the attic - paralleling the moment of his own death and the arrival of his own blue light. In the Devlin house, Charles can't act. He tries but gets stuck in the loop. The same way Edwin was stuck in his loop in Hell - unable to escape the Doll House. Edwin pulls Charles from that loop, by destroying the tape and actually, with the help of Crystal, physically pulling Charles up off the floor. This is paralleled when Charles pulls Edwin out of Hell. Because, the Devlin house, seeing his own parallel and being unable to stop it, would've been figurative Hell for Charles. So, their parallel ghosts aren't even JUST about them separate but them together and their entire afterlife purpose. Its not just "what could've been" but "what can we make it", which is not a common use for parallels, least, not that I can think of.

So yeah, the boys' parallels are AMAZING! But the post I was sent included Crystal paralleled with Esther and Niko with Tragic Mick. So, lets look at that.

Cause, DBDa has a LOT of parallels, which I love. They have scenes that parallel each other and characters that parallel each other, and its fascinating. But focus, focus on just the Core 4.

Crystal and Niko fall more into the traditional comparison type parallels - the younger character paralleled against an older version of themself and "what you could become" motif.

Crystal and Esther - I touched on them a little bit during a previous NGL where someone asked if I thought Crystal was getting through to Esther during the final fight. Crystal and Esther parallel amazingly. They both are women who were wronged - betrayed in some way by people they loved who were meant to love them. They both turned to some power to protect themselves, specifically taking the route of power to keep others from hurting them, even if it meant hurting others first. Esther is the most obvious, but Crystal does this - the mean girl mentality hurting her friends emotionally, giving people nightmares, and the whole making someone walk into traffic! Add to this that both Esther and Crystal get their power from a similar place. I mean, Crystal's is her own, but it is strengthened by her ancestors. A female ancestral source. Esther gets her from Lilith, the first woman and goddess of wronged women. They both turn to this source as some point. And this is where they branch and they do it in a way I enjoy. Because, Crystal doesn't go all the way down the same route as Esther, even though she starts down that path. She stops. Her memories are gone. She doesn't remember being hurt. She knows she has the power to get what she wants and do what she wants. And she does - she helps. She finds Becky. She finds connection! Crystal is lost and alone and could use her powers to take, but instead, she uses them to help. And when she fully reconnects with her ancestors, her first act, is to save others. I like how her's is handled, because she never has an explicit "this is who I could become" moment, which, I've seen a lot of. This idea that either the character or the audience needs to parallel to be explicitly written out for them. But the audience doesn't. We can see Crystal struggling with herself, her past actions and current decisions and how to use her power in a way that helps without hurting, including herself. When she calls on Esther's pain and shares her own, she's calling out that parallel. She had a moment like Esther, and she chose to do better. But she isn't explicitly comparing herself or saying "I don't want to become you." The sentiment and arc are there and the show manages to tell it without having to explicitly write it out. I like this, because this is more real to me. Which, yes, I'm saying "more real" while referring to a sow with ghosts and demons and witches. But, DBDa does an amazing job ay making the characters and the arcs very human. If you think about all the big scenes people talk about - they're all human scenes. Like, human connection. The big scenes are huge set pieces or explosion or huge moments of action. They're focused on the humanity of the characters. And, in our life, we will probably see parallels to ourselves, but we often don't get the chance or have the foresight to think "this is what I could become or what I could've been" - not in a moment where that change it possible. Often, its unseen things and small choices that we make that get us there. We may have the idea someone in our mind, like Crystal, but Crystal didn't change because she looked at Esther. She changed because the let herself care and she found support and connection and wanted to be better than who she was before. Crystal does parallel Esther, and we as the audience get to see what Crystal could've become, but she changed for herself and for the people she came to care about. This is why I love her parallel in the show. 

And now, we have Niko. And Niko gets another fun dual parallel, like the boys, but not exactly. Niko, I think, parallels Tragic Mick very well. Tragic Mick is cursed - living an isolated life, unable to return home. Niko, when we meet her, is just the same. And neither of them chose it. Tragic Mick was "sent away" by his mother, a punishment essentially for wonder. He was curious. He wanted to know about people. But his mother was hurt by them, so she cast him out. Niko was sent away by her mother, who was grieving, and for whatever reason, didn't want Niko there. She was sent away from home, just like Mick. And once gone, her wonder led her to a field of dandelions, where she was infested and "cursed" resulting in her own isolation. Both of them didn't deserve their fate. They didn't actively cause. They were essentially punished for their own curiosity/wonder and more so, for things outside their control (Huh, both got impacted by intergenerational trauma) and had to suffer through the results. Mick remains largely isolated - constantly seeking a way back to what was. Niko ahs her moments of doing the same. She obsesses, for one episode, about getting her father back. But, when the Night Nurse says "you don't want him back like that", Niko accepts it. Its where her parallel branches off. Niko is able to embrace the pain and what comes after. Not entirely. She still ahs to endure it and get through it. But she doesn't remain in isolation. She could! After the sprites were gone, she could've remained in her room, constantly focusing on what was and how to get back to a place that's no longer there. But she doesn't! She moves forward. She finds new connection and new joy. Like Crystal, part of Niko's shift from her parallel is her own action and part is the action of others - which again plays so well into the show's themes of humanity and connection. Niko would've ended up in a tragic fate were it not for Crystal and the boys intervening. But even after their intervention, she still had to make the choices to chance. Like Crystal - the agency gave her the opportunity and support so she could make the change.

And this brings me to the second parallel for Niko - the Principal. Who is Niko. So, maybe not a parallel, but I'm counting it. The Principal is great because she is what Niko becomes - keeping part of her parallel from Tragic Mick in the "you never know when the good you do will come back around" but also having her own path. The Principal is the parallel that happened because Niko found connection and now she continued the work of the agency from a different side - still helping, in some way, in her way. Because we have the Principal, which we know is Niko, while also having Tragic Mick who is Niko's parallel, we oddly enough get a complete parallel storyline! Yes, Crystal has turned off the path that Esther went down, but something could push her back. And the boys, well, they already ARE their parallel. But Niko, we get a glimpse at this more tragic potential future and instead we see what she does become - the Principal. We don't know how she got there, but we know she held pieces of her journey - quoting Mick, pausing at the sight of her name, using her "reading comprehension" to help, being brave and wanting to find closure for others. Niko becomes the Principal, in part, due to her parallel arc with Mick.

The parallels in this show do an amazing job of highlighting the individual characters while also bringing out the overarching themes of the show - humanity, connection, justice, "the good you do", etc.  Thank you so much for the ask! I hadn't considered the Core 4 parallels with other characters before!!! So this was a fun analysis to do when I should've been sleeping.

[aroaessidhe]

aro & ace Fairytale books

retellings

Until The Last Petal Falls - beauty & the beast aro/aro m/m QPR (prev known as The Beast of Okeme)

The Language of Roses - beauty & the beast with an aro belle

More Than Enough - beauty & the beast ace/ace m/m

The Story of the Hundred Promises - fairytale inspired (+ a little beauty & best), aro major characters and aro themes, m/nb

Little Thieves - high fantasy goose girl retelling, demi/demi m/f

Dithered Hearts - cinderella retelling, fairy godfather is aro (and has some POV)

Create My Own Perfection - aroace medusa, short story

The Ice Princess' Fair Illusion - king thrushbeard, ace lesbian & aroace, in verse

Sea Foam & Silence - the little mermaid, demiromantic & aroace, in verse

original fairytales / fairytale vibes

Come Drink With Me (& other Tales of The Thread) - Chinese original fairytales with aro themes

The Dragon of Ynys - aroace MC

Royal Rescue - aroace MC

#aspec books / aspec database / tumblr masterpost

info included here is brief! please see my database for full details of the books

[crossbackpoke-check]

Substance, Shadow, and Spirit [remixed, abridged] by Tao Yuanming

[delusionisaplace]

"𝙞 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪…" 𝙥𝙞𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙢𝙥𝙩𝙨

have fun with these :))) | tag me if you use any <333 | send a request if you want more

Getting overly jealous over small interactions.

"So what? You're dating them now?"

Overthinking and overanalyzing every single one of their crushes' actions/words, trying to figure out the intent behind them.

"Do they like me back, or not?"

"I can never figure out what you want from me..."

Constantly trying to confess, but biting their tongue before words come out, just to wonder later what would have happened if they had just said what they meant.

Getting upset over cancelled plans and unanswered texts.

Glances that linger on longer than intended.

Recalling small touches, like brushed hands or a small nudge, and immediately yearning for that warmth again.

"Why don't you get it?"

"Is it not obvious? Am I doing something wrong?"

Feeling mad or annoyed with their crush for not realizing their feelings go deeper than just friendship.

Replaying old memories in their head and wishing to make more.

Feeling unwanted whenever they see their crush giving their time, attention, and affection to someone else.

Trying to subtly touch their crush to hint at their feelings.

The "playful" flirting that they mean with every bit of their heart.

Overcompensating by giving compliments and being extra nice, but feeling frustrated all the same when their crush doesn't seem to notice their efforts.

The constant daydreams about how life would be if they were together.

Avoiding any other romantic pursuit because they're stuck on that one person.

Staring at their crush whenever they laugh or smile and thinking: "I wish I can make this moment last forever."

this has been sitting in my drafts for over a year, and i finally found the motivation to finish lmaooo

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Sleeping, Dancing and Mistletoe

Summary: Logan x Fe!Reader -> Times when people found evidence that you and Logan were possibly a couple, and the one time you both finally confirmed it.

Disclaimer: Mostly fluff, mentions/illusions to sex, Logan checking you out. Couple of swear words here and there. This has been unfinished in my drafts for at least a week so...yeah. This is finished. little Christmas at the end. Not Proof Read.

For what felt like the thirtieth time in the hour, you turned over with a huff and pressed your pillow to your ears, trying to muffle the sounds coming from next door. 

And just as it finally died down, you sighed and was just about to thank some ancient being for hearing your prayers when…it started again. 

“That’s it.”

Changing out of your longer pyjama bottoms and into some sleep shorts, you made your way out of your room, keeping your footsteps as quiet as you could until the noises faded away and you started to reach your intended room. 

Opening up the door, you found exactly what you were looking for. 

Shaking his shoulder as he lay on his stomach, you whispered his name, hoping he’d hear you. 

“Logan.” You shook him for a third time. “Logan.” 

Nothing. 

With another sigh, you slapped his face gently and said his name once more, a little louder and firmer. 

“Logan.”

Finally, he groaned. “What?” 

His voice was muffled by his pillow but you could hear him just well enough. Or maybe you were just used to his grunts that they were starting to become their own language you could understand. 

“Move over. I’m sleeping here tonight.”

“What’s wrong with your bed?”

“Nothing.”

“Then go and sleep there.” Logan turned his head away from you and scrunched up his pillow beneath his head.

“I can’t. My neighbours have decided tonight is Valentine’s Day 2.0.”

You pushed half of his body with your hands until he finally got the cue to turn over. 

“Too much information.”

You shook your head, “Too much information is what I’ve been hearing for the last hour.”

Finally, Logan rolled onto his back, his covers covering his bottom half, and groaned. “Fine.”

“Thank you.”

Logan straightened himself in his bed, giving you room to get in beside him. And the minute you touched his covers, you were glad you had changed into shorts. 

Logan was like a furnace. Just constant heat radiating from his body and for as much as it, at times, got too hot to stand near him, he was also, in your opinion, the best person to fall asleep beside. 

“Just shut up and go to sleep.”

Laying on your side, it wasn’t long until you closed your eyes, thankful that you could hear nothing other than Logan’s steady breathing and the distant clock down the hall that was forever ticking. 

However, just before you fully drifted off, you felt Logan’s hand take hold of yours and you smiled. 

He could be gruff all he liked, but when it came to you, he could be a softie. 

By the time morning rolled around, Storm was in search of both yourself and Logan. So, when she found your bed empty and cold, she figured Logan would know where you were. 

But he was asleep. 

Right beside you. 

Storm leaned against the door frame for a while, taking in the picture in front of her. 

Logan was fast asleep, something that was a miracle in itself, with you right beside him, your head turned towards the windows in his room, his own looking towards you, all the while, his arm slung over your midsection and one of your own hands, holding his. 

“Storm- what are you- Oh.”

Jean looked inside. 

“Looks like someone had a good night.” She smiled before looking back at Storm. “Do you think we can finally ask if they’re together?”

“I’d say this is confirmation enough.”

You shifted in your sleep as did Logan, and the two girls hid behind the corner for a moment. 

You turned your head and the rest of your body towards Logan, all the while his arm held you in a stronger grip and pulled you towards him. 

It took you a moment but you finally opened your eyes, adjusting to the light before your vision finally cleared on a sleeping Logan. 

For a moment, you allowed the hand between you both to reach up and brush the stray hairs from his eyes. It was rare you ever got to see Logan this…calm. 

Serene. 

Rested. 

Unknowingly, you started to run your left thumb over Logan’s arm that still held onto you. 

Then his fingers twitched, running over the exposed skin at the bottom of your back. 

“Are you watching me sleep?” His voice was rough, the first words in the morning. 

“Not anymore,” you smiled, brushing the final parts of his hair out of his face. 

“Thanks for letting me stay.”

Then a cough came from the door. 

Logan groaned. “Is this a new hobby; watching people sleep?”

Jean and Storm laughed from the door. “You two look cosy.”

You lifted your head and glared at Jean. “There is one reason I’m here. Maybe I think it’s time you make an investment in soundproof walls.”

Jean turned a little red and Storm laughed. 

“Look, we’ve got a busy day. You can kiss your boyfriend later.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you called out just as Logan called; “She’s not my girlfriend.”

Storm and Jean nodded and just as Jean snapped a picture, she sent it to both yourself and Logan as they walked away. 

“Sure.”

Leaning up, Logan reached for his phone to see the notification pop up before he placed it back down and you climbed out of bed. 

“They’re got a point.”

“About us being a couple?”

You threw a t-shirt at Logan. “Having a busy day.”

Logan laughed a little, scrubbing his face as he watched you leave his room before he reached behind him and took hold of his phone once more. 

Jean and Storm were right. 

From the picture…they did look like a couple. 

A couple of days passed and you were sitting in the quiet living room, the fires on both sides roaring. 

All classes had been finished for two days and some kids had returned home for the holidays, which meant you had some free time on your hands. 

And for you, that meant finally reading. 

Until you sensed someone stood behind you. 

“If you want to know what happens, you could just ask me.”

Logan plucked the book from your hands and circled around the sofa before coming to sit down beside you. 

“Logan! Give it back.”

“I want to see what it’s about.”

You sighed and sat up, “It’s a romance, Logan.”

“A romance?” Logan had a hint of a smirk on his face. “Like the…trashy kind?”

“Like the romantic kind.”

Logan looked at you and smiled. “The trashy kind.”

You rolled your eyes and took the book back from him, leaving him to fix the blanket so it rested over both of you. He placed his arm over the back of the sofa, allowing you to lean into him, whether you noticed you were doing so or not. 

“Just because you might not believe in romance, doesn’t mean the rest of us are the same.”

“I believe in romance.” 

“Yeah, right.”

Logan couldn’t help but smile. “What?”

“The Wolverine,” you said with a deep voice. “Believes in romance?”

Logan nodded. “Occasionally.”

“Occasionally?”

“Do you just like repeating everything I say?”

You nodded and smiled. “Occasionally.”

Logan rolled his eyes and took the book back from you and read a line out loud. 

“People really talk like this?”

You leaned into Logan. “No, but in a book it’s not so bad. Go on, read some more.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

You nodded. “You’re like my own personal audiobook.”

Logan gave a short smile before getting a little cosier and continued reading out loud. 

It wasn’t long before Logan found you asleep against him and he shifted in order to avoid you getting a crick in your neck. 

“Keep reading.”

“I thought you were asleep.” 

“Now I’m awake.” 

“Fine, just be quiet.”

You gave a fake salute. “Yes, sir.”

Holding his arm around your body that was pressed between himself and the sofa, Logan quickly kissed the top of your head and went back to reading. 

And ten minutes later, you were asleep. 

And so was he. 

An hour passed before someone found either of you, but this time, it was Scott and Bobby. 

“They might be in- oh. What do we have here?”

“Oh my god, Rouge has to see this. I told her they were together.”

Bobby rushed off and soon returned, pulling Rouge with him. 

“What is it?” Then she gasped. 

“Believe me now?”

And what Rouge saw made her smile. 

On the slightly too small sofa for Logan, you lay both between him and the sofa, as well as partly on him with your hand a little over his heart. His head was turned towards you. The blanket had fallen a little, so she reached over and pulled it up both of you before turning around and throwing a log onto the fire. 

“Come on, let's leave them.”

“But-”

“No, you are not going to disturb them. Come on.”

Rouge dragged the pair out and closed the door behind her. 

The third time people suspected you and Logan were an item was one late evening in October. 

Half of the kids were playing outside with all the freshly fallen leaves, whilst some of the older kids helped them find different critters and point them out, and build them habitats. The rest of the kids were either in their rooms or studying. 

Save for two. 

Bobby and Rouge were hiding outside of the kitchen watching yourself and Logan cook. 

“I didn’t even know he knew how to…chop. Let alone cook.”

“You should have more faith in him.”

“Come on, Rouge. You can’t tell me you weren't thinking it, too.”

And she couldn’t. Because she was. 

Meanwhile inside the kitchen, Logan was watching you from the kitchen island as he continued chopping the veg. 

There was something different about you. From the way you practically danced around the kitchen finding the different items for the recipe, to just…you. Whilst he was (semi) shirtless, just having his zipper hoodie on, along with his jeans and socks. He would have been fully dressed, except you had come and ambushed him in his room – even though you denied the word “ambushed” – to get him to help. 

And you were just simply in your pyjamas (of sorts) along with one of his zipper hoodies. 

“Bub,”

Logan laid down his knife and walked over to you as you stood by the stove, standing a little higher to see how much water was left in the pot at the back. 

You hummed a questioned response, but was met with a question…you didn’t expect. 

“Dance with me?”

“What?”

Logan smiled lightly as he pulled the wooden spoon from your hand and pulled you closer to him, despite him walking backwards. 

“Come on,” his voice in a light whisper. “Dance with me.”

“Didn’t take you for a dancer.”

Outside the door, Bobby and Rouge mouthed to each other; “They’re dancing.”

And you both were. 

Gently swaying to the music for a while, you allowed Logan to lead you around a small space in the centre of the kitchen. 

“We’re gonna burn the sauce.”

Logan gave a slight smile at you as he spun you out and back in, “We’re not gonna burn the sauce.”

“Logan.”

“Can’t you ever just enjoy a moment?”

“When that moment doesn’t include burning the house down, yes.”

“Bit of a jump, don’t you think, from burning the sauce.”

“Ha, so you agree. We’re gonna burn the sauce.”

Moving over, Logan turned down the heat on one of the pans before taking your hand back into his. “Now we won’t.”

Bobby and Rouge watched, in shock, the rest. 

For one, Logan knew how to dance? Since when? And since when did he…cook and dance in the kitchen? Unless…

Then Logan did something even you didn’t expect. 

He dipped you. 

You hand tightened its grip on Logan’s arm as you let out a small, if a little nervous, laugh. 

Logan had been full of surprises recently. From the impromptu audiobook session in which you woke up in his arms, to him not only dropping off a cup of coffee during your break from teaching but also a freshly baked muffin. 

And now he was dancing with you in the kitchen. 

And dipping you. 

When you had rushed him out of his room to help you cook, you hadn’t expected him to know the recipe for the sauce from the top of his head. Something he just happened to rattle off whilst you were looking for the cooking notebook that should have been in the cupboard beside the oven. Let alone be the one to ask to dance in the kitchen, and dip you. 

Bring you back up, both of you gave a slight chuckle as you turned around, the music slowly fading away in the background. 

“Logan…”

Looking at him, you forgot what you were going to say. 

Had his eyes always had so much green in them? 

Logan’s palm became warm against your back as it pressed further into you. Or maybe you pressed further into him and he just held you tighter. 

Slowly, your hand left his bicep and trailed towards his chest all the while your eyes studied his face. You’d known him for years and seen him a thousand times or more. 

So why did now feel like you were seeing him for the first time? Noticing him? Noticing each particle he was made up of that allowed him to sway with you in the kitchen to the music that had changed on the radio?

Only, before the space between yourself and Logan became any more closer, a noise came from outside the door. 

A sneeze. 

A sneeze that shocked you and Logan back into reality. 

Still holding you, Logan looked towards the door and gave a hint of a smile when he saw the flash of white disappear behind the beam. 

Realising what was happening, you lowered yourself back to the ground and slowly stepped out of Logan’s arms. “We should finish up.”

Logan nodded in agreement, however did look back at you when you got back to the stove, not noticing you do the same a few moments later, watching him pick up the rest of the veg and toss it into the collider to be washed. 

Time passed and after more music, more conversation - including a burnt tongue from when you had shoved a wooden spoon with fresh sauce on, into Logan’s mouth for him to try - and a lot of scrubbing later, you found Logan sitting inside the library and collapsed next to him. 

“Good news, the kids loved the food,” you told Logan. “Double good news; Jean and Scott are on cooking duty tomorrow.”

“Thank fuck.”

“Thank you for helping me.” Turning to look at Logan, you found him already looking. 

“You did ambush me.”

“I didn’t ambush you.”

“I wasn’t dressed.” Logan examined himself. “Technically, I’m still not.”

You rolled your eyes with a slight smile. “Fine. Maybe it was a mini, tiny, miniscule ambush.” 

You made a small space between your fingers. “Like this big of an ambush.”

Logan looked at you, at your fingers and then back to you in slight disgust before moving your fingers wider with his own. 

“That big of an ambush.”

You rolled your eyes and dropped your hand. “And they say us women are dramatic.”

It was Logan’s turn to roll his eyes. However, as he did so, his arm wrapped around you, and pulled you back into him and the sofa. 

“Just shut the fuck up for a minute and listen.”

You did so. 

“I don’t hear anything.”

“That’s the point.” Logan’s eyes were shut as his head rested on the back of the sofa. 

Eventually you gave a shrug and joined him. 

An hour later, Storm found you both fast asleep beside one another so with a knowing smile, she found a blanket, covered you both up and closed the door behind her. But not before reminding herself she needed to get verbal confirmation from you both. 

She wasn’t handing over any money to Jean and Xavier until she had verbal confirmation of what exactly was going on between you two. 

And she didn’t have to wait long…at least in the long run, she didn’t have to wait long. 

Until then, there were plenty more incidents of falling asleep next to each other, bringing each other coffee, dancing to music in the kitchen, smiling and laughing – all before she finally got verbal confirmation that the inevitable had finally happened. 

Finally, it was acceptable to decorate for Christmas. 

Two days prior, Rogue, Logan and Storm had been helping you find all the old decorations in the attic and bring them down. Storm did try then to bribe something out of Rogue, but she apparently was just in the dark as the rest of them. 

But the smile she gave when she looked over at Logan, who was placing down another box from the back of the pile for you to take a look at, told Storm something different. 

“I can’t believe you leave it this late to decorate.”

Logan looked at you. “We’re still in November.”

“So?” 

Taking hold of the garland, you started to climb the ladder. Logan held onto the bottom just to be safe. 

“If you had it your way, the decorations would be up all year round.”

“Hey, no.”

“Hey, yes.”

“I’d take them down for…” you tried to think. “Halloween. You’d have a little break.”

Logan didn’t look entirely thrilled. “Halloween is one day.”

“Technically, it’s a month.”

“To you, it’s a month. To the rest of us, it’s a day.”

You looked back at him. “To you it’s a day, to the rest of us it’s a month.”

Then you looked back at the garland. “How does that look?”

“Great from where I’m standing.”

You looked a little confused for a second before quickly looking over your shoulder, realising where Logan was, in fact, looking. 

Not at the garland, but at your ass. 

You smiled and started to step down the ladder, hitting his shoulder on the way down. 

“I meant the garland.”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” Logan looked up. “Looks great.”

You laughed. “You didn’t even look.”

With a smile as you finally stepped back into his arm, he looked to the side and up. “It looks great.”

“Good. Now,” Logan turned back to look at you and you kissed him quickly. “We have to put up five more.”

“I get to watch you put up five more.”

You smiled. “This is why you’re my favourite person.”

Logan smiled. He could help you with everything else, but when it came to the garland, you had full control on where it went. Which, he didn’t mind. So long as he got to watch you put it up. 

You quickly kissed him once more, only to be pulled back when you tried to walk away. 

Then Logan gave you a real kiss. 

A little dizzy, you smiled and placed a hand on his chest and closed your eyes. “Wow.”

He gave you a quicker, lighter kiss. “You better get going before Rogue comes back with another box of lights.”

“Light?” Then it hit you. “Oh, yeah.”

Logan smirked a little as he watched you walk away and down the hallway. 

It was a couple of hours before everyone was in the same room, making the final touches all the while most of the other kids were either playing outside in the snow, were taking naps or decorating their own rooms. 

And the others had been watching you and Logan all day. 

The stolen glances, the stolen touches, the slightly knowing smiles from both Rogue and Bobby. And then, as Logan was helping you down from the ladder, his hand on your thigh, Bobby went to make the final hammer to hang up the mistletoe. 

“Wait, no. Not there.”

“Where then?”

Storm looked around. “I know. Y/n, hang this just above there. We don’t need a remake of Mistletoe Central 1997.”

Logan looked at Storm. “Do I wanna know?”

Storm shook her head. “Here.”

She handed you the mistletoe before Logan passed you the hammer back from his belt. 

Three knocks and the nail was set in and the mistletoe was above you on a corner beam, just a little to the side of the christmas tree. 

At least this way, those looking for it, would find it. 

"Oh, no, wait.” Jean said, looking at you. “Have to kiss someone. It’s tradition. You’re under the mistletoe.”

There was no one else apart from Logan.

Logan looked around at the others. He wondered how long it would take. 

Coming up behind you on the ladder, you moved over for him to stand beside you. His palm on your back held you steady and, leaning his other arm on the ledge of the ladder, his hand cupped your face and he kissed you. 

Lasting a little longer than the others had expected, you soon heard Rogue giving a little cheer, as well as a couple of whistles from the others. 

“Okay, I think they get it.” You whispered to Logan as he finally pulled away, a smile very noticeable on both of your faces. 

“Happy now?” Logan asked, turning towards where Jean and Scott were standing. 

“That was some kiss.”

You felt yourself blush at the comment. As did Logan. 

He helped you back down the ladder before you both turned and really saw the other's expression. As well as the exchanging of money between people. 

“Sooo…how long has this been going on?”

You were leaning into Logan, his hand around your back and on your hip. 

You looked at Logan, “A couple of months. We’re…what? November now so that would…”

“That would…” Logan counted back in his head. “May…June, July…six months.”

You looked back to the others. “Six months.”

A chorus of shocked faces and loud voices sounded out; “SIX MONTHS?!”

All before a small call from Rogue was made, which made both yourself and Logan smile. 

“I knew it!”

[fiastomatocheek]

SNOOPY KISSED SOMEONE THAT WASN’T MOMMY?

pair: dad!luke hughes x f!reader

genre: fluff, family humor, slice of life, domestic dad!luke hughes

warnings: none, just fluffy dramatics, toddler sass, soft parenting, and too much cuteness.

summary: it’s summer, and that means deep lucy-and-snoopy bonding time over dolls and fake tea parties… until you come back from folding laundry and witness something you never expected, lucy and luke’s very first fight.

fia’s note: this was an idea that had been sitting in my drafts since april on my old blog @mattrempeswife. i only just found it and finally got around to polishing it up and reposting it here. it wasn’t originally written for dad!luke, but as i reread it, i realized luke would fit the scenario so much better.

tagging team fia ! — @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @dancerbailey3 @mashmashi @hopefulsuitcasemoneyzonk @kell9rs @alwaysclassyeagle @nokiaholland @macka @silvenyy @voidvannie @itsonlyaddi

fia’s masterlist | join fia’s taglist | yap & fic

You’d just finished folding a basket of laundry in the bedroom and were heading back to the living room where Luke and Lucy had been peacefully playing a few minutes ago.

Before you left, Lucy had been deep in her pretend world, assigning Luke all the ‘important business lady’ roles in her dollhouse scenario. He was apparently the boss of the bakery, the town mayor, and the father of five tiny dolls named ‘Princess Strawberry,’ ‘Maya’ ‘Maya’s twin,’ ‘Little Snoopy,’ and ‘Mommy, but Tiny.’

All was well.

Until you returned and without question, the cutest moment you’d ever seen.

Lucy sat on the living room rug with her back to Luke, arms tightly folded, her dolls were ignored and Luke sat behind her looking like he was in timeout, poking at her back with a stuffed bear, whispering.

“Luce… hey. Luce. Don’t be mad. C’mon, you love my funny voices…”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Uh oh… What did you do?” you asked, drying your hands.

Lucy whirled around the second she heard you and ran straight toward your legs, throwing her arms around you like you’d just rescued her from a broken heart. She sniffled dramatically into your sweatpants.

“Poor Mommy.” Lucy said.

“Oh Luce,” you said softly, crouching.

“What happened, little lady? Did Snoopy break your dollhouse?”

She shook her head hard, curls bouncing. “No…”

“Did Snoopy eat your candy again?”

Another shake, this time with a sniffle. “Worse.”

Luke stood, rubbing his neck. “Okay, wait. I can explain—”

“Explain what?” you asked, amused.

“She asked if I ever dated anyone before you. I said yes. Then she asked if I kissed anyone else before you.” He winced.

“I also said yes. That was the moment I lost my daughter’s trust, apparently.”

You turned to Lucy, brushing her hair back gently.

“Baby, is that why you’re upset?”

Her bottom lip trembled. “He kissed someone else, Mommy.”

Her voice cracked like she was the heroine of a romance novel.

“And it wasn’t you.”

You bit your tongue to keep from laughing. “That… did happen before I met Daddy, sweetheart.”

Lucy gasped and looked up at you. “You kissed someone else too, Mommy?”

Luke made a yikes face.

“Well… yes,” you said gently.

“But then we met and all those people didn’t matter anymore. We picked eachother.”

Lucy pulled away, arms still folded.

“I thought you were eachother’s first loves. Like in the books! Or like Princess Strawberry and Mayor Guy!”

Luke crouched in front of her.

“Luce, listen to me. I didn’t even know Mommy yet back then. But the moment I met her? Game over. No one else has even come close.”

Lucy narrowed her eyes like she was trying to decide if this was forgivable.

Luke continued, trying to sweeten the deal. “Mommy is my only love now. Forever. Forever-ever. I even wrote it in my vows and everything.”

“You also said you’d let me paint your toenails and you forgot last week,” Lucy mumbled, bitter.

Luke gasped. “Low blow, Hughes. You’re keeping receipts now?”

Lucy sniffled again and looked up at him, expression serious.

“So… if someone prettier than Mommy comes and wants to kiss you, what do you do?”

“Easy,” Luke replied. “I say no. And I run away and scream, ‘I LOVE MY WIFE AND MY LUCE!’ Very dramatically.”

You burst out laughing.

Lucy still didn’t look convinced. “What if… What if she brings cookies?”

Luke’s eyes widened. “Oh. Dang. Cookies?”

“Yeah. Like chocolate chip. The warm gooey kind.”

He tilted his head. “You drive a hard bargain, Luce.”

Lucy poked him in the chest. “You say no, Daddy. No cookies. No other girls.”

Luke nodded solemnly. “No cookies. No girls. Only you and Mommy. Forever. Scout’s honor.”

“Were you ever a scout?” she asked, suspicious.

“No, but I am very tall and have an honest face.”

Finally, she cracked. A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

“You still mad?” Luke asked, leaning in.

Lucy sighed. “Only a little.”

Luke opened his arms wide. “Hug truce?”

She paused… and then slowly fell into him with all the weight of someone accepting a great burden.

“Fine. But Snoopy, you owe me two tea parties, nail polish.”

Luke lifted her into his lap. “Done. Done. And done.”

“Also,” Lucy said, glancing over at you, “I’m still glad you picked Mommy. She’s prettier than everyone else. Even that girl on the cereal box.”

Luke looked over at you and smiled, soft and sure.

“Yeah. Me too, Luce.”

That night, after you tucked Lucy into bed and quietly closed her door, you returned to your bedroom, lay down next to Luke, one arm behind his head, and let out a low chuckle.

“She really thought we were each other’s first love, huh?” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

You smiled, turning your head to look at him.

“She still kind of does.”

Then you added with a fond sigh, “She’s such a curious little six-year-old… and now she knows exactly how to keep her Mommy and Snoopy in line.”

Luke smiled widely.

“She’s already better at running this house than either of us.”

You laughed with him, the sound melting into the warmth of the room.

“And you know,” you added teasingly, “whenever Luce calls you Daddy instead of Snoopy… there’s definitely something wrong.”

Luke groaned dramatically, burying his face into your shoulder.

“That’s exactly how I knew I messed up,” he said through a muffled laugh.

“The second she said ‘Daddy,’ I was like, ‘Oh no. I’ve committed a crime in the eyes of Lucy Hughes.’”

You snorted. “A crime called ‘dating someone before Mommy.’”

“Guilty as charged,” Luke muttered. “But in my defense, I was like… sixteen.”

“She doesn’t care,” you smirked. “To her, you’ve only ever loved one woman in your entire life.”

Luke smiled, his voice softer now. “Honestly? That’s kind of how it feels anyway.”

You looked at him, heart catching a little at his words.

“Good save, Snoopy.”

He leaned over and kissed your temple.

“Best truth I ever told.”

[writingsbytee]

THE HOTLINE

SEX OPERATOR TERRY RICHMOND x BLACK FEM READER

*Remember, you are in charge of your own consumption. 18+ up audiences only; minors, please don’t interact!* THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION AND HAS NOT BEEN PROOFREAD

*Please do not plagiarize, repost, or steal my work. This doesn’t count for re-blogs!*

SUMMARY: Set in the early 2000s. Taking your best friend’s tipsy advice, you decide to call a sex hotline for help with dirty talk and your overall insecurities surrounding sex. When you call your local sex hotline, you get more than what you bargained for when Terry pics up the other line. 

PAIRING: Terry Richmond x Blaire (reader)

WARNINGS: 18+; explicit dirty talk, mutual masturbation

AUTHOR’S NOTE: My brain is being CONSUMED by Aaron right now, so enjoy this piece that's been sitting in my drafts for months because I was too scared to finish it!

WORD COUNT: 3.7k

PART 2

TAGLIST

@blackgurlnhermoods @theereina @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @uzumaki-rebellion @keehendrixx @keyaho @megamindsecretlair @dxddykenn @pinkkycherrishh @pinkkycherrish @episodes-ff @kimuzostar @urfavblackbimbo @kianaleani @shallipii @pocketsizedpanther @mymindisneverhere @onherereading @nayaesworld @earthchica @simplyzeeka @skyesthebomb @gg-trini @blyffe @melalsworld @mogul93 @ms-mosley-ifunastyyy @sweettea-and-honeybutter @notapradagurl7 @miyuhpapayuh @playgurlxoxo @yassbishimvintage @dbaileyblog @jimmybutlrr @versaceslutz @ruewritesoccasionally @kaylalb @rose-bliss

Divider: @anitalenia

“I’m sorry Blaire, I just don’t think we’re sexually compatible,”Devin, your now ex, says. Popping the top off a bottle of Don Julio, you start to make yourself a drink. 

“Okay, you can see yourself out” you say, not even bothering to look at him.

“So that’s it? We’re just done?!” Devin shouts.

“Well according to all the bitches you’ve been talking to, this is long overdue. So Devin, like I said, please get the fuck out of my house,” I look up at him, flashing a sickeningly sweet smile.

“Good luck finding a man who’ll fuck a frigid bitch like you,” Devin snarled, grabbing his coat. 

You rolled your eyes and scoff, trying to act like his words don’t phase you. The rapid beat of your heart says otherwise. “Just get the fuck out,” you say, now bored with this interaction. Devin huffs more insults at you as he grabs the rest of his shit, leaving for good. When you hear the click of my front door, you lock it, grab your drink and settle into the sofa, cutting on the TV. 

You’re on your third drink and feeling a little tipsy, when your home phone rings from it place on the coffee table. A small smile graces your face when I see your best friend Nina’s name on the caller ID. 

Blaire: “Hello?”

Nina: “So, how’d it go?”

Blaire: sighs “We never even made it that far. He broke up with me.”

Nina: “He’s a fucking asshole! All because you and sex don’t have a good relationship?”

Blaire: “Apparently, we weren’t sexually compatible. I mean, he never made me feel comfortable. Never tried to get me in the mood, I’m not just a ‘get up and go’ kind of girl. I need romance, sexual tension, and desire. Devin never tried to help me overcome my insecurities around sex, as long as he got off it was fine.”

Nina: “I’m so sorry boo, you deserve so much better than that!”

Blaire: *voice breaking* “I don’t know what’s wrong with me! I don’t want to be like this forever, broken”

Nina: “You are not broken. You just haven’t found anyone who you’ve felt vulnerable enough with to let that side of you come out. Wait, have you tried calling a sex hotline?”

You nearly spit out your drink.

Blaire: “You’re kidding right? No I haven’t tried one, I wouldn’t even know what to say”

Nina: “That’s the thing they’ll do all the prompting for you. It’s helped me just overcome the underlying embarrassment that I’ve had with dirty talk. You should definitely give it a go Blaire. What do you have to lose?”

You contemplated the idea, it never occurred to you to try a sex hotline for your chronic bedroom shyness. What the hell, it couldn’t hurt and, if it turns out to be a complete failure you won’t call ever again. 

Blaire: “Okay, give me the number.”

It’s 11:30 and you’re settled in bed in an oversized tee and fuzzy socks. Twisting up your light pink hair into a claw clip, you flop onto your stomach, turning on the TV. Your  twinkling lights reflect off your tumbler, bathing your room in an ethereal glow. The crumbled piece of paper sits on your nightstand, taunting you. Worrying your lip between your  teeth, you try to weigh the pros and cons. 

“Fuck it,” you mumble, reaching for your phone and the number. With shaky fingers you dial the number, your heart rate skyrocketing when you hear the tell tale dial tone. 

“Thanks for calling ‘the hotline’, how can we help you come today?”, a sultry woman’s voice answers the phone.

“I- I don’t really know what I need,” you say, a slight tremble in your voice.

“Well that’s okay sweetie, what do you want to get accomplished tonight?” the mysterious woman asks. 

“I just want to feel more comfortable talking dirty, and taking initiatives when being intimate. I’m tired of feeling sub-par when it comes to sex. I want to be desired like every other woman” you  said, twirling the phone cord around your finger. 

“Okay, I think I have someone for you. Are you interested in men or women?” She asks.

“Men please,” you say, timidly.

“Perfect! Terry’s going to knock the shyness right out of you. Hold a minute while I connect you. Just remember sweetie, relax and have fun.” With that, she disconnects our call and I hear the beeps of her transferring me. 

There’s a pause on the other end before you hear a throat clear, “Hello?”, a voice that sounds like melted velvet bleeds its way through your phone speakers almost causing you to drop it.

“H- Hi”, you say, the nerves clear as day in your voice. 

“Hey now, don’t be nervous, we're friends, aren’t we baby?”immediately your pussy quivers at the tone of his voice.Who knew a man could sound so sexy? Just the sound of his voice alone was enough to melt the panties of every woman in a five mile radius.

“Sorry, I’ve just never done anything like this before”you said, nervously.

“Well, let’s start slow. I’m Terry, and you are?” Terry asked.

“I’m Blaire. It’s nice to meet you Terry” you say shyly. You hear a raspy chuckle on the other end of the line before Terry says, “Pretty name, and I know the face matches.” Terry stopped tossing the stress ball between his fingers. Something in her voice caused him to lean forward, wanting to hear more, know more about the stranger with the voice like silk.

“What brings you to my little corner of the world, beautiful?”Terry asks, a curious frown on his face. This didn’t sound like one of the usual women he’d talk to. She sounded softer, sweeter, like she had no business calling a sex hotline.  Normally, he’s not supposed to ask for names. Keeping the anonymity was a  part of the thrill for most people, but he also wanted to know your name for his own personal stalker-ish reasons. 

You groan, an embarrassed laugh leaving your lips, “My boyfriend broke up with me today because we aren’t ‘sexually compatible’”

Terry feels his frown deepen in sympathy, “I’m sorry to hear that love. Break-ups are never easy, and let’s face it if you guys aren't ‘sexually compatible’, he probably couldn’t make you come anyway.”

A satisfied smirk makes its way onto Terry’s face when he hears your laugh on the other end of the phone.  

“C’mon sweetheart, tell me I’m wrong,” Terry coaxed, wanting to hear more of your voice. A dramatic sigh leaves your lips as you flip over.

“You’re right. He never made me feel anything south of the equator, which is probably why the sex was horrible. Like not even a twinge,” you finished with a giggle, the liquor getting to you. 

“Well I hope I’m more successful,” Terry says, his voice dropping an octave. You’d only been on the phone with him for a few minutes, but his voice was already working its magic on you. The flush of heat, leading to the gentle flip of your belly. A welcome feeling that you thought might never return. 

“You’re already doing more than he ever did,” you mumble, getting up. 

“Oh am I?” Terry asked, the smirk on his face beginning to darken. He was going to have fun with you.

The silence on your end of the phone was beginning to stretch. Your mind begins to wander, wondering if you made the right decision.

“I’m sorry! This is my first time doing something like this and I don’t know how I should act.”

“Just be yourself baby. I’ll take the lead if that’s okay with you?” Terry asks. He can already feel his balls tightening. Her voice, her innocence, it was beginning to affect him.

“I’d like that, thank you, Terry” you say, settling deep into the comfort of your bed. Your plush pillows surround you while your silk sheets rub against your freshly shaved body. 

“What are you doing now?” Terry asked. Another giggle left your lips as you replied, “Laying in bed watching jeopardy, and talking to you of course.”

“I see we have something in common, I’m a Jeopardy fan myself. Now, tell me beautiful, what are you wearing?” Terry asks, his voice dropping an octave. You feel yourself dampen between your legs at the question. 

“Just an oversized t-shirt and fuzzy socks,” you say your voice taking on a breathy tone.

“I want you to do something for me,” Terry asks. He wanted to make sure you were comfortable.

“That depends, what do you need me to do Terry?” you ask, a smirk slowly spreading across your face. 

“You’ll let me know if anything I say makes you uncomfortable, yeah?” Terry asks. 

A small hum leaves your lips, your horniness hits you all at once. Blanketing your brain in a haze, “Yes, Terry. I can do that,” your voice already taking on a breathy tone. A low groan leaves Terry’s lips on the other side of the phone. He flexes his hand, itching to wrap it around your throat. 

“Good, I want you to relax for me baby, can you do that?” Terry said, palming his hardening dick.

“Can you help me relax Terry? I’m sound wound up,”you say, not knowing where this burst of confidence came from. It must be the liquor, you thought. 

“Easy love, just breathe for me yeah? Do you want me there with you? So I can rub you down, feel your muscles relax and loosen under my touch. Imagine us lying together, skin pressed close, hearts beating in tandem. I can make you feel so good baby.”Terry coaxed, his own breathing slowing to match yours. His words painted a comforting picture in your mind. You could feel your nipples beginning to harden under the thin sleep shirt. 

Your breathing picked up, his words, his voice igniting something in you that you thought had long been extinguished. Desire. Your body started to warm as horniness hazed your vision. 

“Mm, I wish I could see your face, Terry. I would love to see who’s behind the voice that has my panties so wet,”you purred. Terry’s eyes widened on his side. Your increasing confidence was turning him on, making him hot under the collar. 

“Damn, baby I wish I could see you too. I’m loving this confidence, now tell me sweetheart are you relaxed?” Terry asks. He raises up from his lounge chair in his studio, yanking down his sweats, boxers, and grabbing his baby-oil. 

“What can I say? You bring it out of me. I’d be more relaxed if you were here with me, but this will have to do for now,” you tease. 

“ I love how you’re opening up for me baby.”Terry said. His balls aching with a need to release. You were doing a number on him and you didn’t even know it. Sure he got off with a client every one in a while, but there was something about you that drew him in. Making him want to know more about you, and not just sexually. 

“Are you wet right now pretty girl?” Terry asks, his hand coming up slowly to stroke his dick.

“If I wasn’t I am now,” you say with a slight giggle.

‘That’s my girl,” Terry chuckles. “Put two fingers in your mouth and swirl them around. Let me hear it,” 

A nervous laugh leaves your lips, “You want to hear it, Terry?” Terry groans at the way your name leaves his lips. “Yes baygirl, I want to hear every noise you make. I want to know what I do to you, how I make you feel. Every moan you release is all mine, so you better make sure I fucking hear it.”

A whimper leaves your lips at the dominant tone that Terry’s switched to. As if on autopilot, you bring your hand up to your lips and slide two fingers in. The slick wet noises of your fingers being wet by your tongue travel from your ears to Terry’s. A small moan releases from you at the pure nastiness of it all. Your drool practically leaking down to your wrist. 

“Listen to you, moaning already. You haven’t even touched that pussy for me yet. Blaire, is she wet for me?” Terry groans. His dick bobbed with attention, begging him to wrap his fist around it and tug. 

“I’m so fucking wet, Terry. My thighs are sticking together, when can I touch myself baby? I need to touch myself,” you moaned around your fingers. 

“Soon baby, take that shirt off for me, I need you naked for what I have planned,” Terry rips his own shirt off. His chocolate nipples tighten as they meet the cool air. 

“Rub your nipples for me Blaire. Tease them, tug at them, coat them in your drool until they look like shiny hershey kisses” Terry’s voice had taken on a hard edge, he was getting close and he barely touched himself. As he heard the sweet mewls you released he knew he needed you, and not just for phone sex. 

“You’re doing things to me baby. I usually don’t get like this but I need this, I need you. Can I have you Blaire? Will you be mine?” Terry sounded like a desperate man, begging for pussy but he didn’t care.

“Yess baby I’m yours, I’m yours!,” a high pitched moan leaves your lips as you tweak your right nipple a little too hard. The pain sent a jolt of pleasure right down to your clit. You couldn’t believe yourself, you were opening like a flower to a man you’d never met. 

“Your fingers are now mine baby girl, visualize me tracing my hands along your inner thighs, tracing patterns. Grabbing onto your luscious thigh kneading and tugging, slowly making my way upward, but not close enough to where you want me.”Terry voice lowers, the huskiness of it sounds like a growl. 

“Can I touch myself please Terry? I’m so wet” your moans spurring him on. 

“Can’t say I’m surprised baby. You’ve been wet since you heard my voice haven’t you?” Terry purred, his voice a seductive rumble. “Take a minute and focus on how wet you are. Feel it pooling between your legs, dripping down your ass, and wetting up your sheets. Feel how your body responds just at the thought of me, of what I plan to do to you when I finally get you alone.” Terry’s breath hitched as he listened to your needy whines and whimpers. 

“You want to touch yourself, don’t you baby?” Terry asks. Your reply is almost instant, “Yes please Terry! Can I?”

“Go ahead baby, give yourself some relief. But just know it won’t compare to how my fingers will feel, my lips, and my dick in that wet ass pussy,” his voice thick with need. “Make sure I hear everything, every moan, every gasp, the slick sound of your fingers as they play with my pussy.”

Your fingers glide down your body to come in contact with your wet pussy. A mess of whimpers and moans can be heard through the phone. “Tell me what you want to do to me Terry, are you  going to make me feel good?” you ask, a panting mess.

“I’m going to make you feel better than good baby. Fuck, my dick is rock hard for you Blaire,”Terry moaned, you could hear the slick sounds through the phone as he stroked himself. “I can’t wait to sink this dick deep inside of you, to feel that tight pussy wrap my dick in a warm, wet hug.” Terry’s hand moved faster, pumping his shaft with an increasing urgency as he continued to describe his fantasies out loud. 

His voice dropping to a husky purr, his voice dripping with raw, unbridled lust. “Oh baby, I can’t wait to have you spread open so I can claim you as mine. Eat that sweet pussy until you’re crying, begging me to stop,” his free hand cupping his heavy balls as he stroked his aching dick. 

You’re a moaning mess on the phone. Practically hypnotized by Terry’s words, “I need you, Terry!’ the needy whine left your lips without a second thought. When you dialed your local sex hotline you never thought the man on the other line would excite you, let alone hurl you toward one of the best orgasms you’ve had in months. 

“Fuck baby, you have no idea how much I need you. How bad I want to feel that pussy come for me,” he rasped, his breathing ragged. 

“Tell me how bad you need me baby,” You moan, your fingers form a mind of their own as they find their way inside your warm cunt. Breathless pants and whimpers bleed through the phone spurring on Terry’s need to get you as close as he is. 

“I’d drag you onto the nearest flat surface and fuck you however you want me to. Do you like it rough? I’ll give it to you rough. What about loving and soft, because I can do that too, baby. Your pleasure is my only concern..fuck. I’m hard as fuck for you baby,” he palmed his aching dick harder, the friction sending jolts of pleasure down his spine. 

Your fingers found your g-spot during Terry’s rant, eliciting high pitched squeals from you. “Terry, you have no idea how bad I wish you could be here with me. Nobody’s ever made me feel..unh. Feel like this before”

Terry’s chest heaved with a shuddering sigh at your confession. His heart ached at the longing in your voice, he had to meet you. “Babygirl, I’ve never felt like this before either. I want to meet you baby, can I do that? Can I meet my pretty girl?” This call reduces you both to babbling messes, too consumed in each other to pay attention to the outside world. “If I could only be there in person, baby, feeling your soft lips against mine, tasting how sweet you are,” he murmured, his thumb rubbing over the sensitive head of his dick. 

“I’d fuck you right here on this call, if technology allowed. I’d push into that tight pussy so deep, so hard, that you’d for- forget your own name,” Terry’s voice dropped to a sensual purr, his imagination running wild at the thought of finally getting you alone.

“Come to me, Terry! Fuck! I need you here, I want you baby please! Can’t you hear how wet I am for you? How bad I want you, don’t leave me hanging, please,” more needy cries leave your lips and meet Terry’s ears. He was going to lose his mind if he didn’t have you. 

Terry’s breath caught in his throat as he listened to your sultry whispers, his mind reeling with the intensity of his arousal. “Blaire, baby, you’re killing me with these sexy ass words of yours. I can almost feel your breath on my ear, begging me to take you harder, deeper,” he groaned, hips rocking instinctively as he continued to stroke his engorged member. 

With a deep breath, Terry opened his mouth to say something that would absolutely get him fired, “Give me your address sweet girl, and I’ll be there. I’ll fuck you all night, every way you want me to, don’t you want me there with you baby. I’ll take care of you, I’ll hold you, please you in ways you’ve never felt. Just a few numbers and a street name and I’ll be there.” The horny declaration leaves his heaving chest, but Terry doesn’t regret anything. He just hopes you’ll say yes and give him that address. 

You contemplate the idea. Should you really give your address to a phone sex operator, no matter how sexy the voice. Your buzz had mostly worn off, in its place a crippling horniness. Terry made you feel things you thought were once dead inside you, how could you deny yourself the opportunity that is this man. Being a single black female in a semi-big city, you weren’t an idiot. You had protective measures in place. So with a sigh and a shy giggle to read off your address to Terry. 

“Can you do something for me Blaire?” Terry asks, yanking his sweats up over his aching dick. It’s taking everything in him to stop, but he has to get to you. He has to meet the vixen that's taken hold of him almost instantly. 

“Anything,”you say, so delirious right on the edge of cumming.

“Don’t come until I can get my hands on you,” Terry hangs up the phone, promptly ending your session. Your chest heaving in frustration and desire at Terry’s command, you had something for his ass when he got there.

OH MY GOD!! OBVIOUSLY THERE’S A PART 2 COMING!! 

I could never leave y’all hanging like that, but be warned it might be a while. Getting back into the groove of things and starting a second job has taken up a lot of my time. I’m finding my footing though so more consistent work will be coming. As always I always accept criticism, but please be gentle, I’m a tad but sensitive about my writing. Send me asks and requests, I love reading what you guys come up with! I love y’all to the moon and back thank you so much for consuming my work. 

UNTIL NEXT TIME

TEE <3

[vixensbrainrotts]

TR men reacting to little kids wooing you

Content: reactions

Tropes: established relationship

Warnings: none (lmk if im wrong)

Summary: A little boy, perhaps four or five of age comes waddling over to you two whilst you're out on a date together and offers you a flower, confessing his spontaneous love for you. How does your man react to that?

Vixen’s two cents: hi! This has been sitting in my drafts forever so i need to get it out cause it’s collecting cobwebs. It’s sort of a random idea but whatever, i found it entertaining. Also im editing this in the car and its giving me a stroke why is the road so fucking uneven? If you have any ideas for me to write please please please my requests ans messages are open! Yeah, let me know if there are any other characters that fit those types and enjoy!

(Takemichi, Chifuyu, Souya, Hakkai, Shinichiro, Sanzu (I don’t care what anyone says. Shy Sanzu is forever on my agenda), Inui)

Nearly deceased type, it took him so long to get you. How HOW is this little ass kid wooing you better than he could ever dream of? What the actual fuck was happening? He couldn’t believe his eyes when that actual toddler came up to you with a flower, the stem freshly plucked, and a glimmer in the kid‘s hopeful eyes. The boy had almost serenaded you the way he sang praises to you: „excuse me miss, you’re really pretty! Would you accept my flower please?“. And what was even more unbelievable, was when you giggled and accepted the flower giddily. Then the little boy crossed the line: „can I have a kiss in return Miss?“. And you did. You pecked the cheek of the boy meek two minutes after meeting him! Unbelievable! It took him 3 dates to even hold your hand. Outrizzed by a five year old.

(Nahoya, Mikey, Baji)

Ready to fight the kid. He's deadass about it too, rolling up his sleeves and cracking his knuckels and snapping the kinks in his neck, looking menacingly at that poor little boy. He doesn't care that this may be the kid's first crush, he'll crush him in return. You were his damnit and he was gonna prove it to anyone who tried him. Kids included. When you pull at his arm though, prompting him to calm down, he stops a little. What do you mean you dont want him to establish his dominance? He's genuinely stumped and just kinda stares at you for a second, watching you intensely as you lean down to the boy, whispering something in his little ear and taking the flower from him. The boy giggles at you, his former horror dissipated, instead replaced with a furious blush that spread all the way down his neck and up his ears. He blew you a kiss before skipping away, giddily going back to whatever he was doing beforehand. Your boyfriend turns you around by the shoulders immediately and gives you a harmless glare. “What the fuck was that about?” But he doesn’t get a response, as you just wrap your arms around him and laugh. “You’re so cute when you’re jealous!” Well… that wasnt the answer he was looking for but he’ll take it.

(Ran, Shion, Draken, Benkei, Wakasa)

Sitting back and watching the show. He finds the little kids advances hilarious and will gladly watch the little shrimp try to win you over whilst you’re trying your hardest not to burst out laughing. “So sweets, how old are you anyway?” The boy asks you with a smirk on his face. “Too old for you.” You answer incredulously, just about ready to cry from laughter. “No no no baby, no one has to know! It can just be between the two of us and that’s fineeee!” He draws out the syllables and leans one elbow on table you and your boyfriend are sitting at. Your boyfriend all the while has probably pulled out a phone, discreetly filming the whole thing whilst leaning back and hiding his tears. You shoot both boys an amused look and then answer the awaiting kid. “Come back to me in a few years and maybe we can arrange something, yeah?” The little kids eyes widen as he looks at you with a determined smile. “Yes! You won’t regret it! And I’ll beat up your wannabe boyfie over here once I’m strong enough too!” He exclaims and runs off leaving you howling in laughter and your boyfriend, who is suddenly enraged by a child, fumes silently, sending daggers across the room. “Relax baby.” You reach a hand over the table to hold his, wiping the tears from your eyes. “Don’t touch me.” He hisses and puts the phone down, crossing his arms in fake offense.

(Hanma, Kokonoi, Izana, Rindou)

The false hope typa guy. In this case, the boy made the mistake of coming up to HIM and innocently asking for your name. “Why, you like what you see?” Your boyfriend uses language much too mature for the little kid, but he gets a timid response of “yeah, she’s real pretty..” nevertheless. Your boyfriend chuckles and pats him on the shoulder. “I say go for it, I’m sure you’ve got a chance with her!” The little boy has wide eyes and an open mouth “Really? You sure she doesn’t have some super big ‘n scary boyfriend?” He has to suppress laughter when he answers. “I’m sure she doesn’t, go talk to her, ask her for her name and tell her that I said hi too.” And with that, he’s sent the kid on his way. Your boyfriend watches him shyly go up to you and pat your leg slightly to get your attention. He watches you smile down at the little boy and talk to him, your eyes widening and laughing when you exchange a few words with the kid. When he sees fit, he comes stalking over to the two of you and wraps his arm around your waist and smirks at the kid. “Hey there.” You greet your boyfriend and turn to look at him. “Have you met—“ he guesses that you’re about to introduce him to the little boy but he doesn’t care to listen, and leans down to shush your lips with a long, over-the-top kiss, even going as far as to cracking one eye open to look at the little boys horrified face before finally pulling away. You’re a little dazed and very confused when you look down and find your little admirer gone. You throw your boyfriend an accusing look but he only raises his hands in surrender, claiming innocent with a smug smile on his face.

[daycourtofficial]

Tell me I’m the only, only, only, only one - part four

Pairing: Eris x reader x Azriel | WC: 3.3k | warnings: general angst, nudity, horniness

Summary: despite the disastrous turn last night took, life continues on. Maybe, just maybe Eris’s treatment of you has Azriel reconsidering things.

Author’s note: happy birthday to me! I’m giving you all angst. Your anguish is the best present I could ask for 🫶🏻 (ps eventually things will be shifting, I promise the angst train has an end in sight)

Previous part | Next Part | Masterlist

The rest of the night had been terrible. After retiring to your room, you bathed quite angrily, splashing water all over the room, uncaring at the mess you made. Even the calming atmosphere of your bathroom did little to improve your mood. You wanted to be more destructive, wanted to throw the bottles of product that lined your bathtub. You added smelling salts and bubbles, lit candles, did everything to calm yourself. In spite of it, adrenaline and jealousy kept pumping through your veins.

It wasn’t just anger and jealousy threatening to tear you apart - the emptiness you felt in your chest made you contemplate sticking your head beneath the water. The once strong mating bond that consumed your every thought was silent, the spot it occupied in your chest feeling like it would collapse in on itself at any moment. Even during your week of avoiding Azriel, some primal part of you still relished in the feeling of him in your chest, at least just knowing he was there.

But now he wasn’t and the bath felt more alone.

Your vexation carried you from the bath to your bed, making it impossible to even read Azriel’s latest journal. You were angry and worried, stuck staring at your ceiling all night, begging for the goddess of sleep to take you under.

She must have taken pity on you at some point, but your sleep still hadn’t been enough. Your eyes were heavy when you woke, head pounding as you went about your day. Most of it was spent with Madja, brewing potions and salves to drop off to patients at the end of the day. The healer had a few appointments with longtime patients, so you spent the afternoon alone finishing drafts and brews. The silence didn’t bother you as much today - your anger long gone, its departure making ample room for the growing hole in your chest.

Overthinking and doubt kept your mind occupied as you went through the motions of bottling and labeling. Would you see Azriel today? His sudden departure last night left your skin burning from his withdrawn touch.

The mating bond was still silent as you worked, a first in the months since the bond had made itself known to you. You passed, a thought overtaking you.

Azriel had seemed startled to know about it, but had he been feeling you inside of his chest since he found out the truth? Or was his chest a tangle of yours and Eris’s emotions? Presently they were likely the same emotions, if Eris’s anger at seeing you was anything to go off of.

You couldn’t drag out the bottling forever, eventually reaching the end with many more thoughts to untangle and work through. A sigh escaped from your lips, but you checked all the vials, ensuring every fae you were supposed to see today had a matching vial. Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath, trying to center yourself. The deliveries wouldn’t be too difficult, only a moment of interaction with each patient, but the turmoil you felt made the simple task seem monumental.

How were you supposed to chat with these fae and pretend everything was fine when you had a mate out there who was betrothed to another?

The breath helped you feel slightly better, but it was more difficult than you’d like to admit to take that step out into the sun, the brightness nearly blinding after your night of solitude and sadness.

It wasn’t nearly as bad as you expected. You ran all around Velaris, your feet more sore with each delivery, the pain a new thing to fixate on. The bright sun had made the throbbing in your head worse, the bright reflections off of windows making you squint as you walked the streets.

Your lack of sleep did little to help your mood, but you tried to put on a happy front for the fae you saw semi-regularly. Sleeping tonics, tonics to prevent chills or locking joints, even energy boosting tonics rattled about in your pouch as your boots hit the cobbled streets.

At some point the sun had become hidden by clouds, making the journey a little less intense.

The last potion had been dropped off, just in time for a light snow to begin to fall. You huffed out a breath, watching the air in front of your face steam up from the heat. You smiled, thinking of the tales from childhood of dragons fanning out breaths of fire.

Your chest opened up, the subtle feeling that was Azriel crept back inside, nestling deep within you. His presence in your chest was comforting, a gentle reminder that you weren’t alone.

You turned your attention back to the path ahead only to find the shadowsinger himself where you were headed, his large wings tucked in behind himself, a polite smile on his face. Gone was the anger that dropped your hand and coated the silence, replaced now with as much joy as Azriel puts on display when out in public.

Seeing Azriel at the end of the road once more was a welcome surprise. Every day that you worked he waited for you there before flying the two of you back to the House of Wind. At first you had apologized profusely each time he came, worried he found it tedious and would resent you for it. After the routine of it fell into place, you had stopped apologizing.

Once Azriel had been away, unable to collect you, he sent Cassian in his stead. His brother was not nearly as gentle as he was during the flight, your face more green once you landed at the House.

The next day Azriel had been waiting for you, a box of pastries in apology. The taste of powdered sugar filled your mouth as you remembered him flying you to a park, sharing with him the sugary sweets.

When you had left for work this morning, you thought he would have forgotten to do it, hiding himself away once more. Maybe the Mother made you two mates because she found the two most avoidant fae and thought it would be funny to stick them together, her favorite form of entertainment watching the two of you find one reason or another to avoid each other.

Once you got close enough, you smiled up at him, a weight of worry about him sliding from your shoulders into the thin patch of snow.

“Hi Az.”

He smiled in return, not a trace of the previous day on him. It felt almost like a dream the way he had pushed you aside so quickly.

“How was your day?”

“My feet hurt. I’ve been every which way in Velaris today dropping off restocks.” You don’t mention the previous day, your lost sleep, your being locked out of your bond, or your resolution to beat Eris for Azriel’s affections. You stuck to a safe topic. “I think my boots lost their conformity to my feet in the week I took off.”

He chuckled, wings shaking slightly. The smile made him so beautiful against the snowy backdrop, his black wings and dark skin against the glistening snow making him more radiant. His shadows trailed lazily in the cracks of the cobblestone around you, several of them lingering in your shadow. One bold shadow lingered behind you, swirling where the shadow of your lips laid.

“May I escort you back to the house? Unless there was something else you needed in town.”

You paused, pretending to mull over his question. Had something happened since you saw him almost twenty four hours ago? Had he discovered how terrible Eris truly was by now? You pursed your lips, trying to stop the smile on your face at the thought. A small part of you hoped that wasn’t the case - you were prepared to go to the ends of the earth to compete with Eris Vanserra, ready to prove your worth as a mate to Azriel. Gloating to the redhead was the ultimate goal.

A forfeit from the Autumn heir seemed almost in poor spirit.

“That would be lovely, thank you.”

Stepping forward, his shadows began curling around you, pulling you to their master. You strained your ears, certain you could almost hear a tiny voice cooing mine, mine, mine. Azriel’s warm hand pressed against your back as he lifted you with ease, pressing you tighter to his chest than normal. You were still upset, toeing that line of wanting to mention it. You looked up to find him already looking at you, his eyes shining with adoration, knocking any ill feelings from you.

“Ready?” His smooth voice was quiet, just for you. Just like he should be.

You nodded, your nose rubbing against his neck for warmth. The mating bond pulled at your chest, urging every part of you to touch him. You wrapped your arms around his neck as he took off, fresh fallen snow flying once more as he flapped his wings.

You spent the entire flight focused on his face, watching the snow pile in his dark hair. His heat caused some of the snow to melt, water droplets moving down his neck to beneath his leathers. Your hands were ice without your gloves, a forgotten part of your wardrobe in your tired decision making this morning. You huddled your hands closer to him, pressing them where his chest met your body, desperate for warmth to bring life back to them.

“Almost there.” His arm tightened around you, and you felt his hand reaching out, trying and failing to reach your cold hands.

The House of Wind looked resplendent in the snow, something out of a fairytale. His wings glided through the sky, the snow sliding across the membrane. Azriel landed with practiced ease, a gentleness that kept surprising you. Instead of setting you down like he normally did, he moved forward, his steps gentle. You looked around, confused why you were still in his arms as he stepped inside the house.

“Az, what are you doing?”

“Carrying you.” You sighed as his mouth turned up slightly into a smile, clearly proud of himself for his joke. The flight had already made him shed the public persona he adopts, even in the streets of Velaris.

“I can see that, but why?” Your tone held a touch of faux irritation, only causing his smile to widen.

“Your feet hurt.”

Those words stopped all protests on your tongue. He was caring for you. For you. The thought had heat creeping up your cheeks.

Maybe he felt the same way you had about Eris. That things with you could be easy. That Eris was hard to love, hard to keep secret. But you - you were kind, his family would be much happier with your mateship than his with Eris.

He led the two of you right before your door, a shadow creeping up to twist the handle. Flurries of black slithered the floor beneath your bathroom, the sound of running water making its way beneath the door.

Azriel sat you down in a chair. He kneeled before you before he began unlacing your boots. He looked beautiful, the sight of him before you sent heat through your body.

A little moan escaped as he removed your boot, rotating your ankle to help sooth the dull ache. He started working on the other shoe until that one came off as well. He took his time, scarred hands massaging your calves, his fingers moving in soft circles.

His ministrations slowly took the day off your feet, the ache duller with each passing second until he slowly tapered off, his hands lingering for a moment on your calves.

“I think you can do the rest of this.” He gestured to your clothes, and it took everything not to ask what if I want you to do it?

You were quiet instead as he stood up, dusting off his pants. Your eyes moved to his thighs, trailing to find the imprint of his cock stretching his pants. You curled your hand into a fist, trying to keep your own arousal to a minimum.

Patience.

“I’ll be in the library again, if you wish to sit with me after your bath.”

Your hand reached out, wrapping around his wrist. One word floated through your mind.

“Stay. Please.”

Azriel’s cheeks flushed a brilliant shade that made him so endearing in the moonlight.

“I have books you could read or you could bring your work in here.” He was starting to consider it, hesitation clear in his face. “I’d like the company.”

His shadows danced around him as he sat on the bed, waiting patiently. You stared back at him, slightly surprised it actually worked. Getting Azriel to change his mind was a feat worthy of a trophy. He was the most stubborn of his brothers, an insane feat considering your fight with Cassian over raisins months ago that he still brought up on occasion. Pushing yourself out of the chair, you kept your eyes on him.

“You could sit in the bathroom with me.”

His body stiffened, and doubt crept up your throat. Had you gone too far?

“Do you have any books to suggest?”

You couldn’t stop the smile from spreading before bounding over to your bookshelf, fingers gliding across spines you had abandoned these past few weeks in favor of Azriel’s journals. You quickly find one you know he’d enjoy - a tale of deceit and lies that see two spies falling in love despite their mistruths.

You thrusted the book into his hands, your fingers meeting his before slowly peeling your hands away and turning to the bathroom. A few shadows curled around your ankles as you went, their cool caresses sending heat through your body.

You tossed your hair on top of your head quickly, leaving your outer clothes in a pile on the floor before sliding into the warm water. The comfort the bath provided began instantly, your muscles relaxing.

A shadow squeezed between the door and floor, its entrance dramatic and impossible to miss. You peered over the bathtub as it approached you, reaching your hand out to pet it.

“He can come in.” The shadow hesitated, staying in your proximity, lavishing in your praise as you kept stroking along it. It felt cool and like a contained breeze. You had touched Azriel’s shadows before and they generally had two states - a more solid form like now, where it feels like you’re touching it, and a more loose form, where your hand would pass right through it.

The shadow stretched out like a cat, black wispiness elongating before it finally moved back beneath the door. A moment passed before Azriel walked through the bathroom, his boots loud on the tile. He passed quickly, finding the wall opposite where you faced, sitting and leaning his back against it. A smile crossed his lips as he met your eye before opening the book, sinking slightly further into the floor.

It felt so domestic to be in the tub while he read. The slight musk of his arousal clung to you, the intoxicating scent driving you wild. It wasn’t inherently sexual to be naked in the bath while he sat a few feet away.

Thoughts raced as you thought of the daily routine this could become - the way his hands would trail down your body, helping you with buttons and laces, your own fingers working to undo the intricacies of his leathers. He could be in the tub with you right now, his strong chest behind you as you two read or gossiped about the day.

There’d be a lull, a domestic quiet that say Azriel’s hands moving beneath the bath water, stroking up your thigh, closer and closer to right where you needed him.

You were sure this present version of Azriel could smell you in the room and you weren’t sure if you were disappointed or not he hadn’t mentioned it. His eyes stayed focused on the book in front of him, flipping pages on occasion.

The water stayed warm, but you were tired of Azriel’s focus never making its way to you. A shadow curled around his ear as you reached out of the tub, your towel just a bit past arm’s reach. Azriel’s hand wrapped around the towel, gently unfolding it and holding it out, waiting for you to step into it. You looked up at him, the red tips of his ears the only hint at the effect this has on him.

He looked away as you stood up, his eyes fixated on the ceiling as the water splashed in the tub.

You reached your hands out, using his arms for balance as you stepped out, guiding his hands to wrap the towel around you.

Azriel finally looked back down, his hazel eyes almost black as they met yours. Your hand met his chest, needing his sturdiness to keep your legs from giving out. The low light of the bathroom cast shadows throughout his face, the darkness an endless part of him.

Scarred hands reached up and held your face with such delicacy you almost melted. The water was still in the tub behind you, no sound to be heard save for the anticipation drumming your heart rate.

His lips were so close to yours, one lone shadow moving between your shared breaths, exacerbating the distance between you two. You prepared yourself - breathing in and out, about to push forward, make the leap, when a sharp inhale stopped you.

“I can’t.” Azriel didn’t move, his eyes pained with turmoil. Somewhere deep in your chest your heart shattered, the pieces falling to your stomach. “I can’t cross that line. Not without Eris.”

“Eris?” You said his name as if it was a deadly plague.

Him?

If Eris was still in the picture, why had Azriel come to find you? Why had he been so kind? Why had he treated you with a tenderness you’ve only experienced from lovers?

“I can’t betray him like this. Not after everything.” His hands gripped your waist tighter, as if by sheer force he could change the circumstances.

“I don’t understand, Az. I’m your mate too.”

“Yes, but I haven’t made any promises to you.”

The shattered pieces of your heart were splintering, the pain radiating through your torso, the string around your heart squeezing so tight it was threatening to kill you.

“So I’m once again punished for not being first in line with the mating bond.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.” You had to look away from him, unable to look at the pleading in his eyes any longer. What he wanted - you to leave, you to stay, for all of this to be different - you didn’t know.

“It’s certainly what I’m hearing. If you can’t be with me because of Eris, why did you seek me out?”

“It wasn’t intentional.”

“When was it not intentional? You brought me home, you made me a bath. You helped me out of my clothes, Azriel! That’s not something I’d let Cassian do!”

The soft growl Azriel let out at his brother’s name gave you pause.

“I didn’t do that out of friendship.”

“Then what was it out of?”

He stared at you, his mouth opening and closing, indecision laying on his tongue. A shadow nudged his back in encouragement, something he didn’t find. He was grasping, searching for something that never came.

Each beat of your heart caused you to sink further and further into despair.

“Well, if you don’t even know why you’re here, maybe you should leave.”

A wing twitched over his shoulder, but no other part of him moved for a whole minute. The silence was almost painful, his shadows floating in the still air until they were disturbed by their master turning his grip loose on you, leaving you alone once more.

Divider by @tsunami-of-tears 🫶🏻

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If you want to be on my taglist or aren’t getting tagged, let me know 🫶🏻

Thanks for reading 🥰

[meleeyz]

┈﹒ ꒰ 𝗔𝗡𝗢𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗥 𝗨𝗡𝗜𝗩𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗘!𝗘𝗞𝗞𝗢 𝗪𝗘𝗗𝗗𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗖𝗔𝗡𝗢𝗡𝗦 ꒱

ekko 𝒙 fem!reader

୨୧ English is not my first language, so I regret in advance if something reads weird or is misspelled

୨୧ These are headcanons of the other Ekko, before the canon Ekko from the show "takes" his place… I hope you understand...

୨୧ I'm still writing for the fic, but the last chapters is taking longer than I thought, I hope you understand, in the meantime I have some things in drafts that I will publish so you don't run out of content.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

another universe!ekko who was really nervous about proposing to you knowing how big of a step that is...

Ekko had always been a confident guy. He was innovator, someone who could fix almost anything. But when it came to you, he found himself feeling like a bumbling preteenager all over again. He wanted everything to be perfect—down to the handmade ring he was crafting for the proposal. Using scraps of precious metals and stones he collected over the years, he poured hours of focus into shaping it into something that represented your story together. Benzo would catch him hunched over his workstation at odd hours, muttering about the alignment or polish. "You know, kid, it’s not like she’s gonna turn you down if it’s a millimeter off," Benzo teased, ruffling Ekko’s hair. Ekko would just grin sheepishly but double his efforts anyway.

another universe!ekko who practiced his proposal speech a dozen times, only to get caught mid-rehearsal...

He was standing in the middle of The Last Drop, the roof their unofficial safe haven for years. “So, um, I’ve been thinking…” he started, pacing back and forth. “No, no, that sounds dumb. Okay—‘you’re the light of my life, and I can’t imagine—’ ugh, that’s so cheesy.” Behind him, Powder crept up the stairs, barely containing her giggles. “Keep going,” she whispered, trying not to laugh. Ekko whipped around, his face flaming red. “How long have you been there?!” “Long enough to know you’re terrible at this,” she teased, doubling over with laughter. “You’re lucky she already loves you.”

another universe!ekko who had no idea you were planning your own big announcement...

While Ekko was caught up in his grand proposal plans, you were busy with plans of your own. The test results sat folded in your pocket for days, and your hands hovered over them more times than you could count. You were going to be a mother. It was Powder who figured it out first, being too observant for her own good. “You’ve been glowing,” she said one afternoon while helping you sort supplies at the community center. “Also, you cried over Mylo spilling coffee, so I kinda put two and two together.” You blinked at her, stunned. “Powder, you cannot tell anyone yet!” She held up her hands. “Cross my heart! But seriously, I’m gonna be the best godmother ever!” You couldn’t help but laugh, though your nerves stayed. You wondered how Ekko would react, if he’d be overwhelmed or excited—or both.

another universe!ekko who proposed on the roof of the last drop, the place where your story began...

Ekko had chosen the roof where he had first kissed you as the spot to ask you to be his forever. He had strung up soft, glowing lights and set up a little table with flowers and your favorite dessert. When you stepped onto the roof and saw him standing there, his hands fidgeting nervously as he smiled at you, your heart swelled with affection. He cleared his throat, trying to steady his voice. "So, uh… I’ve been thinking about this moment for a long time." You stepped closer, your smile encouraging him to continue. "Being with you has been the greatest adventure of my life," he said, his voice gaining confidence. "And I can’t imagine spending another day without knowing that you’ll always be by my side. So..." He dropped to one knee and pulled out the handmade ring, holding it up with a hopeful look. "Will you marry me?" Tears filled your eyes as you nodded, unable to find your voice at first. "Yes, Ekko. Of course, I’ll marry you." The joy on his face was priceless as he slipped the ring onto your finger, pulling you into a tight embrace.

another universe!ekko who fainted when you told him you were pregnant moments later...

But before he could say another word, you decided it was time to share your own surprise. “I have something to tell you too,” you said, your hand trembling as you guided his to your stomach. “You’re going to be a dad.” His grin froze, his eyes widening in disbelief. “Wait, what—?” And then he hit the floor. Powder’s shriek of laughter carried from the rooftop stairs. "I knew he’d do that!"

another universe!ekko who woke up to find you fanning him, looking both amused and concerned...

"You okay?" you asked, trying not to laugh. He blinked up at you, groaning. "Wait… did you just say…?" "Yes, Ekko," you said softly. "You’re going to be a dad." For a moment, he was silent, then a wide grin broke across his face. "I’m gonna be a dad," he repeated, awe in his voice.

another universe!everyone who was overjoyed by the double news…

Vander insisted on hosting an engagement party at The Last Drop, which quickly turned into a celebration for the baby too. Silco was the first to congratulate you both, "You’ll be a wonderful mother," he said quietly. Claggor and Mylo, meanwhile, started a heated argument over who would be the better uncle. "I’m obviously the fun uncle," Mylo declared, crossing his arms. Claggor rolled his eyes. "The kid needs someone responsible. That’s me." Powder, sitting nearby, added fuel to the fire. "Don’t worry, guys. The baby’s gonna love me more anyway. I’m the godmother!" Benzo couldn’t resist teasing Ekko. "Didn’t want to wait, huh?" he joked, clapping him on the back. Ekko just laughed, unashamed. "When you know, you know."

another universe!ekko who became the most attentive fiancé and father-to-be anyone had ever seen…

Ekko went into full-on protective mode. He insisted on carrying anything remotely heavy for you, making sure you got enough rest, and preparing meals that he claimed were "good for the baby." "Ekko, it’s just a broom," you said one afternoon, trying to sweep the living room. "Doesn’t matter," he replied, gently taking it from your hands. "You’re not lifting a finger while I’m around."

another universe!ekko who is absolutely excited about his baby

Ekko transformed into the ultimate caretaker. He made sure you were comfortable at all times, fussing over pillows, blankets, and cravings. He’d often disappear for errands and come back with baby clothes, stuffed animals, or tiny shoes. "You know it’s too early to shop, right?" you teased one evening. "Yeah, but look at these little boots!" he said, holding them up proudly.

another universe!ekko who spent hours talking to your belly...

He would lean close, resting his head against you as he spoke softly. “Hey, little one. It’s your dad. I just wanted to say I love you already—whether you’re a boy or a girl, doesn’t matter.” Your laughter filled the room. “You’re gonna spoil them before they’re even born.” “Damn right,” he said, grinning.

another universe!silco who became unexpectedly protective of you during your pregnancy…

"Must I remind you," Silco said one day, his piercing gaze locking onto yours, "that you’re carrying a very important member of this family?" "I was just reaching for a book," you replied, amused. "It starts with books, and ends with unnecessary strain."

another universe!powder who was the maid of honor and made sure your dress was perfect...

Powder was practically vibrating with excitement as she helped you into your gown. “You look like a queen,” she declared, fluffing the skirt. “No, a goddess. Ekko’s gonna cry when he sees you.” “Let’s hope he doesn’t faint again,” you teased, earning a snort of laughter.

another universe!benzo who secretly cried at ekko’s wedding...

As you walked down the aisle, arm in arm with Vander, Benzo dabbed at his eyes. When Ekko teased him later, he grumbled, “Shut it, kid. It’s allergies.”

another universe!ekko whose wedding was the event of the year...

The Last Drop was transformed into a breathtaking venue, with twinkling lights and decorations. Vander had insisted on non-alcoholic cocktails, much to the delight of you and the other guests. Ekko couldn’t take his eyes off you as you exchanged vows, his voice steady despite the overwhelming emotions. “You’re my everything,” he said, slipping the ring onto your finger. "I promise to love you, protect you, and be the best partner and dad I can be—for you and for our family."

another universe!ekko who ended the night on the roof where it all began...

After the reception, Ekko led you back to the roof where it all began. The city lights shimmered below, the quiet hum of Zaun wrapping around you like a warm embrace. Ekko knelt in front of you, resting his head gently against your rounded belly. "I’ll be the best dad," he murmured, his hands cradling your bump. "You already are," you assured him, running your fingers through his hair. He looked up at you, his brown eyes shining with love. "And I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it."

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

[tokkiwrites]

Hi 💗 first of all, I just discovered your tumblr and I already love your work <3 I’m not sure if this is the way to request, but I’d like to request a kraven one shot, where he is absolutely in love with reader but because of a misunderstanding he breaks up with her in a mean but hot way, then he finds out about the truth and tries to get her pardon, ofc I’d love me some angst, smut and dom kraven 🥺🥺 thank you

▪︎summary: You’re a film producer with a busy schedule, and your boyfriend Sergei’s insecurities lead to a heated fight. After realizing his mistake, he goes all out to win you back, proving just how much you mean to him.

▪︎tags: established relationship, kind of toxic sergei imo, a bit of angst, afab reader, p in v, creampie, belly bulge (??), size kink if you squint, fingering reader receiving, makeup sex, a few pet names, mean (slightly) dom sergei.

▪︎first fic of the year!!! thank you for this request!!! it's been sitting in my drafts for a long while, so sorry for making you wait. it has 2.45k words & and it's not proofread, so if you see any errors, no, u didn't !! i hope you enjoy <3

The air in your apartment was thick with tension. You sat on the leather couch, scrolling aimlessly on your phone, waiting for him to return from yet another one of his late-night escapades. It wasn’t unusual for Sergei to disappear without much explanation; his life as a hunter—of men, animals, and vengeance—demanded it. But lately, he’d been colder, distant in a way that left you feeling like a stranger in your own relationship.

When the door finally opened, his broad frame filled the entryway. His face, shadowed by the dim light of the city outside, was unreadable. "You’re home late." you said softly, setting your phone down. He closed the door behind him with deliberate slowness, his piercing blue eyes locking onto yours. "We need to talk."

Your stomach tightened. "What’s going on?"

"I found something," he said, pulling a small, crumpled note from his pocket and tossing it onto the coffee table. You glanced at it, confused. It was one of your old grocery lists. "What about it?"

He leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "I saw the address written on the back. A warehouse in the docks. Care to explain why you were there?" You blinked, trying to recall. "That was weeks ago. I picked up some things for work— props for the shoot. I told you about it."

"No, what you told me was that you were with your team. But I asked around. Your team never uses that place." His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it that made your skin prickle.

"Sergei, what are you getting at?"

"I think you’ve been hiding something," he said, stepping closer. "I’ve seen this before. People lying, playing both sides, thinking they can outsmart me." Your chest tightened with frustration. "Are you serious right now? You think I’m involved in…what? Some conspiracy? Smuggling?"

"Don’t." His voice dropped, dangerously low. "Don’t play innocent. I saw you meeting someone there— a man."

You stared at him, disbelief washing over you. Then it clicked. "Oh my God. You’re talking about Steve, aren’t you? He’s my set designer! He was helping me load props for the commercial."

"Steve," he repeated, skeptical.

"Yes, Steve! Sergei, do you think I have some secret life I’m keeping from you? Do you really think I’d risk everything for…for what, exactly?"

He didn’t answer, his jaw tightening.

"Unbelievable," you muttered, standing. "You’ve been pulling away for weeks, acting like I’m the problem, and now I find out it’s because you think I’m some kind of criminal?"

"You’ve lied before," he said, his voice softer but still firm.

You froze. "That’s what this is about, isn’t it? The one time I didn’t tell you I was scared on one of your hunts, and now you think I’m some kind of liar."

Sergei ran a hand through his hair, his frustration palpable. "Trust is not something I give lightly. And once it’s broken—"

"Once it’s broken, what? You punish me forever?" Your voice cracked. "I’ve been trying so hard to be there for you, to understand your life, and this is how you repay me?"

His silence was answer enough.

You grabbed your coat, the tears burning in your eyes now impossible to hold back. "You know what, Sergei? If you can’t trust me by now, maybe you don’t deserve me," you said, your voice trembling with anger and heartbreak. You shoved past him, grabbing your bag from the counter. "I’m done trying to prove myself to someone who’s determined to see the worst in me."

He didn’t stop you. He just stood there, the weight of your words settling into the room like a physical presence.

When the door slammed behind you, Sergei was left alone with his thoughts, the silence deafening. His instincts, honed through years of hunting and survival, were screaming at him that he had made a mistake. But pride held him back from chasing after you.

Days passed, and Sergei couldn’t get you out of his head. Every corner of his apartment reminded him of you—the mug you always used, the blanket you insisted on leaving draped over the couch, your perfume faintly lingering in the air.

But what haunted him most was the look in your eyes when you left. Hurt. Betrayed.

It wasn’t until he found himself back at the docks that everything began to unravel. He wasn’t there to check on you or verify his suspicions— he was there to work, tracking a lead on a smuggling operation tied to his latest hunt.

And that’s when he saw the warehouse you’d mentioned. Inside, he spotted Steve, the “man” he had been so suspicious of, overseeing a crew as they dismantled what appeared to be a film set. Lights, props, and equipment were being packed into cases.

“Perfect timing!” Steve called out when he spotted Sergei lingering by the entrance. “We just wrapped. Your girl's idea for the shoot went off without a hitch.”

Sergei’s stomach twisted. “What are you talking about?”

“She didn’t tell you?” Steve said, grinning. “She practically ran this whole project. She even came out here herself to supervise when we couldn’t get everything transported in time. Total lifesaver.”

Sergei’s heart sank. The anger he’d held onto for days evaporated, replaced by a crushing guilt. He had been so consumed by his doubts and paranoia that he’d completely misjudged you.

“Where is she now?” Sergei asked, his voice rough.

Steve shrugged. “Last I heard, she was taking some time off. Said she needed a break.”

It took Sergei two more days to track you down. You had retreated to a quiet café on the other side of town, tucked into a corner booth with a notebook and a cup of tea. When you saw him approach, your expression hardened. “What are you doing here?”

"Love, Iㅡ” he said, his voice low and uncharacteristically soft. “I made a mistake.”

“You think?” you shot back, closing your notebook with a sharp snap. “I was wrong,” he continued, sitting across from you despite your obvious reluctance. “I let my fears and suspicions cloud my judgment. I accused you of something you didn’t do, and I pushed you away because of it.”

You crossed your arms, glaring at him. “Why are you really here, Sergei? To ease your guilt? Or to make yourself feel better about what you said to me?”

“No,” he said firmly. “I’m here because I love you. And because I can’t stand the thought of losing you over my own stupidity.”

Your breath hitched, but you refused to let yourself melt just yet. “Do you have any idea how much you hurt me? How little you must think of me to believe I’d do something like that?”

He reached across the table, his hand hovering over yours. “I don’t think little of you. I think too much of you. I’ve lost so much in my life. People I trusted. People I loved. And when I thought I might lose you too…” He swallowed hard. “I panicked. I lashed out. I was wrong.”

For a moment, you just stared at him, the raw sincerity in his eyes breaking through your defenses. “Do you know how exhausting it is, Sergei, to always feel like I’m on trial with you?”

“I know,” he said, his voice heavy with regret. “And I promise you, I will do better. I will earn back your trust—if you’ll let me.” You hesitated, the walls around your heart crumbling piece by piece. “One more chance,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “But if you screw this up again, Sergei…”

“I won’t,” he said quickly, his hand finally closing over yours. “I won’t.”

As he held your gaze, the faintest flicker of hope warmed your chest. You weren’t ready to forgive him completely, but for now, you were willing to try.

And for Sergei, that was enough. "Let's go home?" he finally asks. You look up at him, and you can't contain a smile. "Sure. Let's go home..."

As Sergei unlocked the door to his loft, you stepped inside and froze. The space, usually dark and utilitarian, was transformed. Soft warm light bathed the room, illuminating dozens of vases filled with vibrant flowers. Roses, lilies, tulips, every kind you could imagine. A faint, delicate fragrance hung in the air, calming and intoxicating all at once.

Your hand flew to your mouth, your eyes

wide. "Sergei.. what is this?" He shut the door behind him, watching you with a soft smile. "A gesture," he said simply. You turned to him, a mix of awe and confusion on your face. "How did you know I'd forgive you?"

His smile grew faintly sad, his sharp features softened by vulnerability. "I didn't." He took a step closer, his hands resting lightly on your arms. "But I wanted you to know what you mean to me. Even if you walked away for good."

Your heart ached at the sincerity in his voice. You looked back at the flowers, the effort he had put into creating this moment, and you felt the last of your anger dissolve.

Reaching out, you picked up a bouquet of white roses from the coffee table and cradled them against your chest. "You're ridiculous, you know that?"

He chuckled, his hands sliding down to take yours, the flowers between you. "Maybe." You laughed softly, stepping closer until you could feel the warmth of his body against yours. Looking up into his piercing blue eyes, you saw the Sergei you had fallen in love with: the fierce, unyielding hunter who was willing to bare his heart for you.

Unable to hold back any longer, you leaned up and kissed him. His lips met yours hungrily, his hands pulling you closer as if to make sure you wouldn't slip away again. The kiss deepened, his tongue brushing against yours, igniting a fire in your core that burned away every lingering doubt

When you finally pulled back, both of you breathless, his hands slid down to your waist. "Come," he said softly, his voice thick with desire.

Without hesitation, you let him lead you to the bedroom. The space was just as carefully prepared as the rest of the loft. The bed was freshly made with crisp sheets, more flowers arranged on the nightstands, and soft candlelight flickered around the room.

You turned to him with a playful smile. "You really went all out, didn't you?" He stepped closer, his hands sliding up your sides, his lips brushing against your ear. "I don't take chances when it comes to you."

Before you could respond, his lips found yours again, his touch more insistent now, his hands trailing down your back. He lifted you effortlessly, carrying you to the bed and laying you down with a gentleness that belied the hunger in his eyes.

"I'll let you make it up to me." You giggle, arms wrapped around his shoulders. "Thank you, baby." In no time, he gets both of you naked, and as if it's the first time, you can't help but shy away a bit. Pulling you closer, his calloused palms travel across your torso, tracing the curves so perfectly. Your already messy hair and burning body invited him to climb over you completely. One of his fingers presses over your lips. "Open."

You do as you're told, parting your puffy lips and letting Sergei’s finger slip in. "Wider." he demands, pushing in another digit, traveling well past your tongue and into the back of your throat. It makes you gag slightly, but you moan around his fingers. He smiles proudly, thrusting his fingers into your mouth and slicking them up before removing them. You're left gasping for air. "Good girl." you shudder.

he motions you further on your back before lining his fingers with your exposed core. "m gonna work you out a little, baby, yeah? then make you take my cock." he doesn't hesitate for long. the slick and wet noises fill the room as Sergei pushes his fingers inside, causing you to buck your hips agains his hand. Your head turns to the side as you try to hide that growing warmth in your cheeks. those two fingers worked into you, turning you into a incoherent mess. A familiar feeling was building up inside your lower belly. "gotta come, baby?" he coos, mocking you. "can't have you do that. Need to feel my cock buried deep inside of that pretty pussy first."

his tainted words make your brain all fuzzy, soft whimpers and pleads parting from your agape mouth. "p-please" his fingers slip out of you, the feeling of emptiness being short-lived as Sergei pushes inside of you full force. This is the first time Sergei has made you take his cock all at once. His hips snap against your, eyes digging into you as if eating you alive. He's merciless, grabbing you by the cheeks harshly and making you look down at your belly, where a familiar bump was visible. "See that, baby?" He laughs. He was so deep inside of you. You can't help but squeeze around him.

"there's my good g-girlㅡ" he groans in utmost pleasure, roughly hitting just the right spot over and over. he pulls out almost completely before snapping his hips forward again, causing you to moan louder, breath hitching as his cock brushed, and probably bruised, your velvety walls.

"I'm gonna fill you up so good, love." he leans down and rasps into your ear "make you leak all overㅡ fuck!"

"p-lease, Sergei" you cry out, gripping him by his broad shoulders, the thrust quickening. he frowns, closing his eyes as he tightly grips you by your thighs. "gonna come all over my cock, baby, huh?"

with one last harsh snap of his hips, he sends you both into heaven and back. You each finish, and you can feel his come pooling inside of you. Your mind and vision blurry, you manage to whisper out a soft "I forgive you." Sergei falls next to you, pulling you closer to his chest as he kisses the crown of your head.

"I love you so much, baby " you smile before you reply with those three words that still make butterflies fly in his stomach."I love you."

[mochinomnoms]

why were you digging? what did you bury, before those hands pulled me from the earth?

art by wolfythewitch

Hozier lyrics in which they embody when loving you.

multi x gn!reader

[tw/cw} - some of the lyrics are gendered, few suggestive parts

[note] - i forgot i had this drafted for a while lol anyways only romantic vibes cause i couldnt find satisfactory lyrics for grim and ortho :( i also was gonna add the halloweenie boys but then it wouldnt have been evenly split and i didnt want that lol

[edit] - I FORGOT AZUL IM SORRY AZULITO FORGIVE ME—

"I know who I am when I'm alone/I'm something else when I see you" - It Will Come Back

He's always been sure of who he is and how he presents himself. He has an image that he must uphold, his reputation is dependent on it. Yet, that perfectly sculpted person comes crumbling down, firm marble turned into malleable clay with you. He should be appalled by the very idea of someone having so much hold over him, yet he can't bring himself to care. You see through him, and it's addicting. You see through him, but still show him kindness, and it's addicting. You see through him, still show him kindness, even knowing just what thoughts he has of you at night, and it's addicting. He has an addiction, and you're his drug of choice. There is no rehab for getting him off of you, once he's hooked he's never letting go of the high that you are. Then again, if you knew just who he really is, perhaps the addiction was mutual.

Riddle Rosehearts, Cater Diamond, Azul Ashengrotto, Jade Leech, Jamil Viper

"We lay here for years or for hours/So long, we'd become the flowers" - In a Week

He is admittedly a simple man, even if he might portray or say he desires otherwise. But deep down, he is very simple: he'd like to be with you forever, that's it. Laying in the grass, the sounds of cicadas and birds singing, the smell of dewy grass and freshly bloomed flowers, all of that with you would be his dream. He hopes that you two will live a long life together, that your graves will be one, your bodies decomposing together into the earth as nature intended. You hope that centuries into the future, some bright-eyed archaeologists will see the patch of flowers growing over your grave and dig to find your two skeletons intertwined. You both hope that theories and myths are created in the image of your long gone bodies so that the memory of your love will live forever on.

Ruggie Bucchi, Jack Howl, Rook Hunt, Silver

"She'll know me crazy, soothe me daily/Better yet, she wouldn't care" - Jackie & Wilson

Loud and impulsive to a fault is how most would describe him, and really he should care more about the problems this causes. He should, but why when you take him as he is, flaws and all? To you, the impulsivity, his loud mouth, his rash nature, his bluntness, they weren't flaws—they were him and you love him. And he loves you—for all your naivete, doting, and enabling ways. If there's trouble to be found, it's likely you're both involved: you chasing after him as he goes of. Is it naive to think that this sort of relationship won't eventually burst into flames? Probably. Is it a bit toxic if you were to look at your relationship critically? Probably. But he doesn't care (even if he normally would or should), and neither do you. Instead, for just a bit, you indulge in the present, rather than the past or future. Just for a bit

Floyd Leech, Kalim Al-Asim, Epel Felmier, Sebek Zigvolt

"You're bright as the morning, soft as the rain/Pretty as a vine, as sweet as a grape" - Too Sweet

Something about you is just a bit off-putting: you're a bit too put together, too cheery, too sweet for someone in your situation. It's more off-putting to him that he's drawn to you anyways. Part of him holds himself back, as he's a realist at heart. One day, any day now, you can go back home, where your sweetness rightfully belongs. Part of him though wants to that sweetness, make it rightfully his and his alone. It's why he can't keep himself away from you, he'd rather defile you, ruin you for anyone else so that you'd have no choice but to come running back to him for that sweet satisfaction that only he can provide. You're not stupid though, you know just what he's doing; lucky for him, you're happy to let him age you into a fine wine, made just for his taste.

Trey Clover, Leona Kingscholar, Vil Schoenheit, Lilia Vanrouge

"Heaven is not fit to house a love like you and I" - Francesca

You have ingrained your very being into his own. The sight, the sound thought of you has him yearning for your touch in ways that would put a god to shame. But Eros had no role in his love for you. Since he's met you, somehow you've managed to core out a space in his heart in the shape of your body. Without you, he'd be empty. Without you, he'd be devastated, experiencing an anguish that would kill his very soul. His love is so strong, so overwhelming, so earth-shattering that he'd alter the very laws of the universe just to keep you with him. Could you even bring yourself to deny him if the choice to leave ever came? You have him in the palm of your hand, like a god with their worshipper. You'll be a merciful and loving god to your devotee, won't you?

Ace Trappola, Deuce Spade, Idia Shroud, Malleus Draconia

comments and reblogs appreciated 🩷

[kisblle]

Dark Paradise IV

Pairing: Low Honor Arthur Morgan x female reader

Part One Part Two Part Three

Word Count: 7,396

Summary: You're reminded that happiness doesn't last forever, especially with Arthur Morgan.

Tags: Heavy angst, pnv, toxic relationship, smut, porn with plot, 18+, MDNI

Author's note: Sorry this took longer than usual to get out, I really wanted to perfect this one because I've had this chapter and the next in my drafts since I got on Tumblr, I just decided to merge it into this story line. Also life has just been so draining lately with my new job and all, I make a lot of money, but at what cost? I feel like I have little time for enjoyable things nowadays.

In a steady, unrelenting rhythm, Arthur moves inside you - again and again. His sweat slicked skin sticks to yours with each powerful thrust, droplets rolling down from his forhead not only from the intensity of your bodies merging, but from the thick, humid air that laces the land of Lemoyne.

He looks down at you gorgeous, wild, and undone. Naked as the day you were born, your hair sprawling like a halo across a patch of shaded grass on the bank of Ringneck Creek. Your breasts bare to the breeze, your warmth wrapped around him, pulling him deeper. The green hues of the grass blend beautifully with the glow of your skin, your eyes telling him everything.

Just the two of you, naked and untamed, lost in the wilderness like creatures meant to mate under open skies. Feral. Primal. Right. Wild. Just animals ritualistically fucking in nothing but the bodies they were born in.

With one final thrust, his eyes lock on your lip between your teeth. “I - I love you,” he gasps, voice breaking as he reaches his climax, pulling out to spill across your soft, heavy chest. He collapses beside you moments later, the earth cool beneath his back, breath catching in his throat as he stares up at the blue sky broken up by branches swaying in the soft wind above him.

Had he really just said that?

Your stomach flips for a moment before he exhales slowly, still smiling, before turning on his side to face you. You wanted to say it back, say those three little, enchanting words as he stares at you completely spent. But something had stopped you. The nerves maybe, or the way he had said it almost too casually, like it had slipped out by accident. But soon, you're not even sure why you're arguing with yourself. The moment fades, lost in the way his lips curve into that boyish grin. He doesn’t bring it up again, and either do you. But those three little words still hang at the end of your tongue, waiting for just the right moment to say them back.

“Lucky no one saw us,” he mutters with a chuckle, breaking you out of your daze. Without thought, he lifts up his hand and scratches his day old stubble before resting his hand on your thigh.

You arch a brow with wide eyes, “You said this was some secret spot you found?”

Arthur laughs, running a hand through his messy hair as he glances toward the pond that curls off the creek. He just laughs, “It's actually a real popular fishin' spot Javier showed me some time ago."

“You bastard.” You purse your lips, pressing a hand to your chest to try and protect your non-extistant modesty as you scan the nearby grass for your discarded dress.

But Arthur only grins wider. Catching your hand before gently pulling you back onto his lap, your bare body melting into him. “C’mon,” he groans softly. “Let’s enjoy it a bit longer. Take a swim? Cool down?”

And when you look into those deep pools of blue when he smiles at you with that chipped tooth grin - it’s damn near impossible to say no.

He holds you bridal style in his broad arms, standing up as he walks to the creek bank, wading in slowly before the sting of the cold pond water hits your bottom, and in a second he drops you from his arms. The chill of water making your nipples peak, catching the attention a a certain pair of wandering blue eyes.

It felt like living inside a storybook, a fairytale you never expected to be part of.

It hadn’t been long since Clemen’s Point, maybe a month and a half, but in that short time, Arthur had done his best to keep the promises he'd made to you. He cared for you in every way he said he would. Steadily and real, like he had promised.

When Sean died, he didn’t pull away like you'd feared. He held you close instead, comforted you not just with touch, but with presence and support.

And then, as the gang's luck soured further, Shady Belle became the saving grace that everyone had needed.

For the first time in what felt like forever, life had rhythm. You were still on chore duty most days, same as always, but Jack was home and safe, and the boys were mostly just laying low. A robbery here, a stagecoach there - even a fancy party hosted by some Brönte guy you knew little about. And for once, everything felt right. Right in a way your godforsaken life rarely allowed.

Maybe it had taken Arthur nearly dying to shake something loose, to snap the both of you into reality. At first, you kept yourself guarded, unsure whether to give him all of you. But slowly, in the quietest ways, you began to trust him.

Falling asleep in his bed. Riding along on his little side quests. The way he actually looked at you like he liked you - needed you, even.

It was such a stark contrast from the months before, it almost felt like he’d turned into someone entirely new, but not new, just changed. His rough edges were still there, his sharp tongue and occasional arrogance - but all of it felt familiar now. Manageable. Nothing you hadn’t already endured.

Arthur smiles as he lowers himself into the water, vanishing beneath the surface for just a breath before rising again, water trickling down his chest and stubble. He gives himself a quick, careless rinse - splashing under his arms, through his light facial hair, and even lifting the girth of himself to splash down there too...his version a bath apparently.

You roll your eyes before dipping lower, letting the cool pond water wash his spend from your body. The tips of your long hair dance across the surface before dipping beneath the waterline, the cool sensation absolutely heavenly against the humidity. You fall into the moment, letting the cool water baptize your skin, letting each curve of your body fall to refreshing sensation.

That is until a strong, wet hand seizes your arm and yanks you up with a jolt.

“Arthur!” you snap, voice sharp with surprise.

“Shhh,” he hisses quickly. “Someone’s comin’. Go hide behind that oak, I’ll grab our stuff.”

Without a second thought, you scramble from the water, feet slipping in the grass as you make for the tree. Behind you, Arthur snatches your disgarded dress with one hand and the rest of his belongings in the other. And just as he fumbles behind the large oak, two men mosey down the creek with fishing poles resting on their shoulders.

They’re too far to see anything crude, but Arthur is still smiling like he's gotten away with murder. Which he has....several times. The cowboy lets out a soft chuckle as you rip your dress out of his hands and quickly slip it over your slicked body, the fabric catching on your curved body from the droplets of water still scattered across your frame. The dress is all that hides you - no bloomers, no chemise, just the thin cloth of light blue dress, one that nearly matches the soft glow of Arthur Morgan's delicate eyes.

“That was a close one,” he laughs, pulling his corduroys over his bare hips, reaching down his fly to adjust his member as he smiles at you with a toothy grin.

Your lips purse under a furrowed brow as he buttons his pants, his eyes not leaving you as he reaches for your hips to pull you close. In a swift motion he pins you to the tree, locking his lips to yours as you wrap your legs around his frame. Wild and free.

You swear there’s a part of him that likes being nearly caught. No matter how much he insists it’s embarrassing, there had been too many close calls for it to just be an accident. Too many actual incidents for you to know that he really doesn't care if he gets caught anyway. Sure there was the incident with Ms. Grimshaw, but that incident with Dutch....that had been too far for you. Yet here he is again, with a grin and flushed cheeks. Like he’s chasing the thrill of being seen out in the open with you, doing something utterly vulgar with two sets of unknowing eyes just a few yards away.

Still, he doesn't care.

It's several minutes before his mouth leave yours, your lips sore and red from how he curls around you. He drops you to your feet, all smiles before he places two fingers between his lips, eyes still focused on you; whistling for that damn nag of his

-

By the time you and Arthur return to Shady Belle, the sun dips low behind the moss covered trees. The air is still thick, but the worst of the heat had passed. Your heart is still heavy and your mind still swollen frome those three little words he had said to you just a few hours ago - but you try and act like you hadn’t even heard them. Arthur dismounts his nag first, then takes you by the waist and lifts you down gently - hand lingering just a second too long as he palms your ass with a firm, deliberate squeeze.

You swat at him, “Oh, stop it,” you scold with a soft laugh, stepping ahead of him with your head turned over your shoulder.

He doesn’t apologize, just watches you walk away with a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, like he knows exactly who you belong to. Like he enjoys annoying you.

But the tender moment is short lived.

“Arthur,” a familiar voice calls out.

It’s Hosea, standing at the edge of the bridge, tipping his hat as you pass. Then his eyes settle on Arthur. “Mind if we have a chat?”

Arthur’s gaze flickers to you, almost as if he's asking for your permission. You turn over your shoulder with a smile, still not used to the way he's become almost so attached he doesn't want to leave your side. But with a raised brow, you smile. “I’m gonna find Mary-Beth.” Excusing yourself into camp without another word.

Arthur watches you walk away for a few beats too long, dazy smile resting on his face. Utterly hyptonitized by the way your hips swing back and forth, turned on knowing there was nothing beneath that dress of yours.

But Hosea’s already walking, motioning with his head toward the small dock poking out near the Lannahechee River.

The gunslinger follows, completely ignorant to whatever Hosea plans to chat about - his mind still only focused on one thing; you.

“What’s this about?” Arthur asks, half paying attention, half not.

Hosea doesn’t answer right away. Just stares out at the river, at the soft ripples reflecting the light of the dying sun.

“You remember Bessie, Arthur?” Hosea says finally, turning to the outlaw with a wise smile.

The gunslinger is taken aback, but he answers, "How could I forget?"

Hosea chuckles for a moment “Course you do.” His eyes seemingly fogging over like he's trying to recall a distant memory. "I remember when she nearly tossed your entire wardrobe into the Montana, claimed it was too smelly for her to wash."

Arthur lets out a soft humorous exhale, recalling the moment from his boy hood. "Woman knew how to make her point."

Hosea's eyes lose the memory, turning to Arthur with a stiff, serious presence. “I loved her you know." The old man waits a few long seconds before turning his gaze deep into Shady Belle. “And that girl of yours… she make you happy?”

Arthur scratches at his beard, caught off guard by the question. He might have been flaunting you around camp these past two months, sure. But that didn’t mean he wanted to sit around and chat about his relationship with you, especially not with his patriarch.

Still, Arthur follows Hosea’s gaze back toward camp, where your laughter carries from the porch. You’re leaned over with Mary-Beth, face glowing, mouth wide open in pure joy as you hit her arm in amusement.

God, you’re beautiful. You were finally starting to get that glow back you once had before he took it all away from you, all those months ago.

With a soft hum and a smirk he doesn’t even realize he's staring as if he's hyptnotized by your laugh. Shaking himself out of his daze before responding, "she's a fine woman.”

Hosea’s eyes flick back to him in a matter of seconds. “But do you love her?"

Arthur’s caught off guard again, brows furrowing as he tears his gaze from you and focuses back on the older man, his voice sharp and confused. "Now why you askin' me a question like that?"

Hosea just chuckles as he notices his son's discomfort, "Cause she brings out somethin' in you that we'd all thought you lost Arthur."

A line forms between Arthur's brows before Hosea lets out a loud exhale. "You were goin' down a bad path for a while son. We all saw how you treated her back at Horshoe Overlook."

A blush of embarassment creeps onto the cowboys cheeks, knowing Hosea wasn't wrong. But even more, recalling all the unwanted chaos and hurt he'd brought you by his actions, and how embaressed he was that he was even capable of such acts.

"I know," Arthur manages to say, voice low and rough.

"She's a good girl that one. Not like you and me." Hosea goes on, his voice soft but positive. "Reminds me of my Bessie."

The cowboy looks down at the tips of his boots before shaking his head back and forth, only looking back up at Hosea as his lips part. "Now I mean no harm, Hosea," he says, squinting slightly as he hooks his thumbs into the loops of his gunbelt. "But why we talkin' bout this?"

Hosea just shakes his head, turning his gaze back to the setting sun bleeding over the river. "I went to pick up the mail yesterday, Arthur," the older man says, straightening up a bit.

Arthurs lips part, but he doesn't make a sound.

Hosea hesitates, then reaches into his satchel, fingers lingering there a moment longer than necessary. "Now, I know you're a grown man." he says, voice low and rough. "And you don't have to listen to an old fool like me."

Slowly, he pulls out a letter, the edges brushing against his wrinkled fingers. Hosea studies the envelope for a long moment, thumbs gently tracing the smooth paper, as he stares at the handwriting. But finally, his gaze lifts, steady and weighted with meaning. "I'm trustin' you not to hurt that girl again," Hosea says, voice stern with something between caution and warning.

The old man presses the envelope into Arthur’s hands, his touch firm, before throwing him one last hesitant look. And before Arthur could even reply, the patriarch turns and walks away, disseapearing back into the heart of Shady Belle.

Arthur’s eyes drop, shoulders stiff as he stares down at the letter in his hands. That damned pale purple envelope. He doesn’t need to open it to know who it’s from, he’d recognize that messy curl of handwriting anywhere.

Mary Linton.

He sighs, long and tired.

What the hell did she want now?

Part of him wants to rip the thing to shreds and throw it into the river without even opening it. But the other part, the bitter, bruised part of him remembers her voice too well. Remembers that last day in Valentine, the look in her eyes before she stepped onto that train like everything she'd ever gone through was his fault.

And it pisses him off.

But worse.

It makes him curious.

His thumb runs under the wax seal, opening the letter against better judgement. And then he’s reading it, eyes skimming over Mary Linton's wonderfully messy handwriting like she was writing to him like they were twenty two again.

A thanks for helping Jamie.

Blaming him, again, for not being the man she could marry.

And a new request; come see her in Saint Denis.

Of course she’s in Saint Denis.

Out of all the places a woman of her standing could be, she just had to be in the same city Arthur was no more than an hour's ride from.

Of course it had to be like that.

It didn’t matter where she went. Mary Linton could’ve written from the edge of Earth, and she knew Arthur Morgan would find a way to get to her. That was the kind of man she had made him into.

Nothing more than a pathetic dog.

But this time, something felt changed.

He’s read that damn letter four times before he lifts his head up from it, holding it tighter than he should have. And as he walks back into camp, he can't help but to feel completely conflicted.

His heart doesn’t belong to Mary anymore, not all of it at the least, Maybe half. Maybe less. The rest... that part was yours. You’d stolen it so quietly he hadn’t even noticed how far it had slipped out of his control.

Hosea had been right, he had become a miserable bastard. But with you, things felt... less so. You made him better. Or tried to. And he wanted to be that man, for you.

But still.

He felt torn in two. Like a man wrestling with a giant.

He shoves the letter into his coat pocket, muttering a curse under his breath, as he trudges towards the center of camp. The cowboy grabs a bowl of stew from the pot bubbling over the open flame, and then a bottle of warm beer from Pearson’s wagon, doing his best to try and clear his mind, and fill his stomach.

He finds the table at the center of camp, empty besides a couple scattered dishes. It only takes a handful of minutes until his spoon is scraping the bottom of the tin bowl as he takes his final bite, but his mind is still caught in the mess of the past. Confliction and guilt tearing him up inside .

But then theres you - bouncing over, smiling like nothing’s wrong in the whole damn world. You drop into his lap with a laugh, arms winding around his neck, eyes soft and wide.

Still wearing nothing underneath.

Your fingers trace his chest, up to his chin, thumb brushing against the roughness of his jaw with a smile. You hesitate for just a moment before saying the words that have been eating you up inside since the afternoon.

“I love you too.”

Four words. Light and easy. But to a man like Arthur Morgan, it was nothing but bullets raining from your mouth.

The gunslinger stiffens. His brow furrowing, nose scrunching like he’s confused, irritated even.

“Why’s you say that?” he mutters, voice low and almost offended.

Your smile instantly drops, freezing for just a moment in his arms before slipping out of his lap and standing up. Blinking at him like he's pulled out his Cattleman's Revolver and shot you straight in the gut.

“Well... this afternoon...” you swallow uncertainly as a worry line forms between your brows, thumbs tangling together in something between frustration and worry.

And then, in the midst of everything, he remembers what he said when he was inside you just hours ago. Flushed and stupid, in the heat of the moment.

He hadn’t lied.

But he also never planned on saying those words so carelessly. Forgetting that he had even admitted that so recklessly to you. The words had flowed from his mouth like instinct, yet, he hadn't thought you'd take them seriously.

For god sake's he was balls deep inside you - you should have known better.

“Yeah, I remember,” he interupts you, much colder than what he means to be. “Just... don’t wanna talk about it right now.”

Your jaw sets and something tightens behind your ribs.

Don’t wanna talk about it?

Talk about what?

Could he not even say it to you?

You fold your arms, bitter laughter bubbling in your gut before you can stop yourself.

“What? Can only say you love me when you’re eight inches deep?”

Arthur rolls his eyes, sighing as his fingers reach for his temples, “You know that ain’t what I meant.”

But you do. You do know. Because this is Arthur Morgan. And no matter how much you love him, no matter how much he'd swear he's changed. He hadn't. Wouldn't. And more than likely - couldn't change. And tonight, he makes you feel like a fool for trying to believe otherwise.

Without thinking a bitter scowl deepens on your face as you grab his beer and dump what’s left of it on his shirt, dropping the glass bottle rather dramatically on the grass next to him. The stew stained tin clatters as he pushes back from the table, arms jolting as he tries to shake off the warm beer now soaking his chest. His jaw sets like stone as his eyes cling to you with nothing but frustration. But before he can say anything, you turn around and shuffle away with tears in your eyes.

“Stupid whore!” He barks after you, the words cutting much deeper than they would have just months ago, when things weren't so serious.

And it’s not until you’re far enough away to cry without being seen, that it really sinks in.

Arthur Morgan couldn't change.

...

It feels like he’d been punched in the gut.

Arthur drags himself up the splintered, rotting staircase of Shady Belle, the weight of everything on his shoulders making him feel that with any step he could fall through. And against better judgement, halfway up the staircase he yanks the damn letter from his pocket again, eyes scanning the words he already knew by heart.

Mary Linton.

God, he was such a fool.

Why hadn’t he just said it back? Why couldn’t he have been normal for once - just said I love you, kissed you breathless, carried you upstairs and fucked you so good you’d say it again and again until he forgot anyone else ever existed?

But no.

You had to say it then, when Mary was still sitting heavy on his chest like a ghost that refused to let go. Right when his heart was stuck in a tug of war. Unsure if he was ready to let go of the past or ready to start really choosing you.

And now, with you gone and that broken look still burned in his memory, all he had was silence. And no matter what the silence meant, he knew one thing.

That his small bed would feel much bigger without you in it tonight.

Arthur tosses the letter onto the chipped old armoire in the corner his room, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes. He strips off his beer soaked overshirt, finding his way to his bed as his rubs at his temples. Everything from Mary Linton to you, running a marathon through his brain.

And it isn't more than a few seconds later that he leans back, trying to atleast dream to forget the day.

...

Arthur wakes up later than usual, head foggy, and eyes heavy. Light from the cracked window bleeds into dusty room like some open wound. He blinks, the slight haze from his tired eyes clearing just enough that he could sense movement.

His body stiffens.

You were there.

Standing near the armoire, you're wearing nothing but a thin, pale chemise that catches the light just right. Your nipples peak through the silky fabric in such a way that Arthur almost forgets yesterday as a whole. You look like an angel, something so pure, so opposite of the man he was.

But your eyes... your eyes were wide and wet, lip trembling as he watches you gulp in horror.

And in your hand.

That letter.

He sits up fast, breath catching in his throat. A surge of heat burning in his chest. Guilt, rage and shame. Twisting together into something dangerous.

Your eyes catch him, looking down at him as if he's shot you like some dirty O'driscoll.

“Came up here to apologize,” you gulp, voice cracking like you might break in two. “Don’t even know why" you nearly laugh as you roll your eyes to the ceiling. "Apologizin?...... Apoligizin' for tellin’ you I love you…”

You wipe several tears away with the back of your hand, trying to hide the emotion now lacing your voice. “Well now I know why.”

Arthur’s jaw ticks.

Doesn't speak.

After a nearly restless night, Arthur had decided Mary wasn’t even worth the trouble in the end. But if you were so damn hell bent on painting him as the bad guy then fine. He’d play the damn part.

He's always been good at it anyway.

He sneers as he gets up from the bed, angry that you were already throwing baseless accusations at him at the crack of dawn. But as heat stirs in his chest, he ruffles through his wardrobe anyway. Searching for some nice overshirt that he'd know Mary would at least appreciate, and maybe one that could teach you lesson.

For snooping. For touching things that weren’t yours.

It didn't take a scholar to figure out that he was pissed.

Not just at you for going through his things but at himself, for leaving the damn letter out in the first place. For getting close enough to you that stupid shit like this even mattered. It was Mary for god sake, it's not like she'd even ever want him back.

Just a game of back and forth that they'd always play, and he'd entertain.

You step toward him as he finishes buttoning his shirt. “Don’t ignore me,” you snap, voice cracking under the weight of every emotion you've ever had for him.

He turns to you slowly, something hard and venomous behind his eyes and the look he gives you is poisonous.

“You had no right to go through my things,” he growls, nose flaring like a wild dog. “Ain’t your business what I do. Think just ‘cause I fuck you that means you get to own me?”

The words were sharp, cruel, meant to slice deep. And as much as every flick of his tongue stabbed you, you couldn't help but to feel that he was lying.

You had seen it for a while now, last night even, when had asked you with his eyes for permission to talk to Hosea. Deep down you knew he was just projecting.

But you still flinch, lip trembling again, eyes wide with something between disbelief and heartbreak. Mary's letter still fresh on your mind, his words still bleeding you dry.

And without another word, he brushes past you, out his bedroom door, down the creaking staircase.

You don't hesitate to chase after him. Mary’s letter still crushed in your fist, your feet pounding down the stairs after him. You loved him for god sake, you refused to believe any of his fighting words. Refused to believe that he would choose some ghost of a woman over you.

He storms through the front doors like he was being chased by something a hell of a lot worse than the woman barely stumbling behind him. But your mouth still spits hell fire. "You goin’ to see her?" you accuse him.

He doesn’t answer.

Doesn't even look at you.

You follow him into the heart of camp, the morning air cool and damp against your bare feet. Your voice raising, louder now. Angry, so that anyone could hear.

“So all of this... nothin’ to you?!” Your eyes widen in worry as you march after him like a bat out of hell. "Jus' some waste of my time?"

People turn and watch, but Arthur doesn't stop. Face laced with an etched scowl, eyes locked on his Turkoman and nothing else.

"You bastard!" you shout, grabbing at his shoulder, trying to pull him back to you. Stop him from leaving. "Least look at me! Say it to my face! Tell me I wasn’t enough! Tell me you don’t want me.”

He turns so fast you take a step backward on instinct. His glare vicious, jaw clenched, nostrils flared. An entirely different man than you'd come to know...come to love.

“You weren’t,” he snaps, voice low and mean, like he wantsto hurt you. “And you’ll ain’t ever be her.”

Your mouth drops open, wind knocking from you like a punch to the ribs.

Sure, you’d never be Mary. But you swore that what you and Arthur had shared was more real than the dress sitting on your damn body, then the mud stained to his boots.

You had seen it. Saw it. Nursed it back from the fucking dead.

Just to lose him to some woman that'd never let him go.

In one last act, you grab at his shoulder, letting him hear your final plea as he starts to mount his horse. You heart nearly breaking in two.

"If you ride off to see her, I'm done, Arthur," you spit, voice shaking with a mix of fury and sadness. "I’m leavin'.... won't be here when you come ridin' back."

Arthur’s hand freezes on the reins.

Then, slowly, he looks down at you.

Sneering.

With a jerk of his arm, he violently pulls his arm out of your grip - hard enough to send you stumbling. You trip on a raised root, falling straight onto your behind in the overgrown grass. Legs cocked open pathetically, palms weighing heavy on the ground. Gulping like he'd shoved you down with the force of a million words.

He leans forward in the saddle, adjusting himself as his cold eyes stare at your sad excuse of a body.

“And where you gonna even go?” he asks, voice sharp and cruel, almost as a laugh because in reality he knew you had no one. He gives you one hard stare before digging his spurs into his nag. Leaving you with nothing but the echo of his departure, and the last pieces of your dignity.

For moments you sit there, on the knotting grass. Horses shuffling all around you as tears stream hot down your flushed cheeks, fists clenched in the grass, chest heaving with the reality of your situation.

Caught up in a mess of Arthur Morgan once again.

And the worst part?

He was right.

You had nowhere to go. And he knew it. Knew that you couldn’t go if you tried, no money, no family, just the familiarity of the Van Der Linde gang that was starting to eat each other from the inside.

But in a mess of feelings and tears, you feel the rush of a set of arms engulfing you into a warm hug. It’s Abigail Roberts, her frame slight but her hold firm. She sits with you, stroking your hair, whispering soft comforts even as her voice shakes with something that sounds like fury. “That no good son of a bitch,” she mutters, pulling back just enough to wipe away your tears with her thumbs.

Your eyes meet hers, they're icy and firm, telling a million stories but also a million warnings. “I love him,” you croak, barely able to get the words out.

Abigail had known that kind of heart splintering pain. She’d felt it more times than she could count with John. But you? Still young, still unshackled, no child clinging to your hip, no ring on your finger. The black haired beauty was smarter than what she gave off, she knew what had to happen.

“You gotta get out of here, darlin’,” she says, rising to her feet and offering a hand to help you up.

You sob.

That was your last promise to Arthur anyway, wasn’t it?

“He's right. Got no money. Nowhere to go,” you cry, shaking your head, voice breaking as all you wanted truly was to be gone. Forget him. Forget everything. Respect yourself enough to stop playing outlaw.

Abigail’s mouth tightens, leading you beneath the shade of her tent, easing you down on her cot. She rifles through her wardrobe as broken sobs escape your mouth. But in the midst of it all, she pulls out a thick, lumpy sock, and turns back toward you. “Was gonna use this for myself, once upon a time,” she says, tugging out a fistful of cash, slapping it on her hand a few times. “But it’s too late for me. Not for you.”

Your eyes are wide, still glistening, staring at the chunk of bills resting in her hand. Your lips parting as she attempts to slip the wad into your hand.

“I - I can’t...” you whisper, cheeks wet with tears and hesitation.

“No, you are,” she cuts in, firmer than you’ve ever heard from her. Something maternal in her tone, something resolute. “Trust me, a girl like you’s got a future. A bright one. Brighter than whatever all this is.” She pauses, her voice softer now. “And Arthur....better leave now before you wake up a few days late with a swollen stomach."

Your gaze locks with hers, wide and wordless.

Her words hit you harder than you thought they would.

And suddenly you understood.

It was time to go.

...

Twenty minutes later, you’re back in the room you’ve shared with Arthur for the past month. His clothes are still scattered around, his beer stained overshirt from last night crumpled at the foot of his bed. You wonder who’ll wash it now, it wouldn't be you this time.

You gulp and reach beneath the bed, pulling out the old suitcase you brought with you to Milwaukee all those years ago, chasing something better. It had belonged to your mother before Typhoid took her.

You pop it open. Inside: a few forgotten pieces of a past life. A locket with your parents’ faces inside. A shirt you never wore but couldn’t throw away. And a small black and white portrait from Blackwater, the one you took just hours before Arthur took your innocence.

You stare at the photo. Less than a year had passed, but you hardly recognize the girl in it. Smiling, light still untouched. So different from who you are now. Used and broken.

And before you pack the last of your things, you set the portrait on the table beside Arthur’s bed.

You wanted to forget him, forget the hurt.

But part of you, wanted him to remember.

Wanted him haunted.

...

Outside the rotting mansion, Hosea stands waiting. Pulling you into a soft, fatherly hug, his voice low with sorrow. “I’m sorry, girl,” he murmurs.

He’d seen it all. Last night’s heartbreak, this morning’s silence. He watched Arthur ride off, watched Abigail hand you that money with trembling hands and a tight jaw. Heard her beg you to go. Guilt weighing on his shoulders as he knew the cowboy would still be here if he hadn't handed him the letter.

But Arthur was a god damn adult. And Hosea had agreed with Abigail, better to leave now before other circumstances could tie you to him.

And as much as it hurt Hosea to see you go, he couldn't help to feel relieved. To at least know someone was getting out, someone good.

You swallow hard. Tears gone, but grief remains.

You weren’t just leaving Arthur.

You were leaving the only family you’d known for years. The people that had taken you in when you had nothing to show, and no one to care for you. Family more than friends at this point.

“Say your goodbyes,” Hosea says gently, rubbing your arm with his thumb. “I’ll take you to Rhodes. Buy you a train ticket to wherever you need to go.”

...

The streets of Saint Denis buzz with life, hooves clicking on cobblestone as the sun shines high in the midst of the Lemoyne sky. Mary Linton’s delicate arm loops through Arthur’s as they step out of the Rauler Theatre, both of them smiling.

Arthur could admit it, he’d had a good time. How could he not? Mary had once been his world. Maybe part of him would always feel something for her. But as they strolled toward the trolley stop, shoulder to shoulder through the heavy air of the city, something felt utterly different.

Hollow.

There was no fire in his chest. No ache. No heat behind his eyes.

It felt less like love and more like memory, a good time with an old friend. Sonething he could cheerish, but didn't need to survive.

And that’s when he remembered you.

The way you made his pulse jump with just your smile. The way your voice sounded like angel's singing, even if you were just telling him off. He remembers the way you smiled even when he didn’t deserve it. And then, above everything, he remembers the way you looked at him the last time. Eyes full of hurt, mouth trembling as he shoved you away.

While Arthur just didn't want to feel controlled, you felt betrayed.

And now all he felt was sick.

His boots slow on the busy sidewalk. Coming to a full stop without truly realizing where he was or who he was with.

“Arthur?” Mary’s voice breaks through his deep haze.

He blinks, realizing he hadn’t heard a word she had said since they left the old threatre. “Sorry,” he mutters.

She watches him for a beat, her chocolate eyes unreadable. “I said... is it too late for us?” Her voice cracking slightly, more a plea than a question as she holds his hands tighter.

Arthur inhales through his nose, heavy and ragged. He knew the answer. Had known it for a long time.

“I can’t lie, Mary. I... I got a woman back home” he says quietly, almost embaressed. Gently slipping her arm from his.

Mary’s expression falters for a brief moment, her face clearing from any found emotion. But in a few short seconds she grins with a sense of meloncholy.

“And I ain’t even really sure why I’m here,” Arthur adds, voice breaking with sudden clarity, the weight of his betrayal sinking in. “I shouldn’t’ve come. I’m sorry.”

Mary nods, her composure surprisingly steady despite the slight shimmer in her eyes. “Treat her better than me,” she says simply.

And in a second, Arthur turns and leaves, heart pounding, stomach in knots.

He’d fucked up.

But more than anything did he want to fix it.

Not with words. Not with excuses. But with a promise.

By the time he reached the jeweler, his hand was already on the wad of cash. He didn’t want something stolen. Didn’t want some rag tag ring from a fence.

No, this had to be real. Something with weight. With meaning.

Something that said: I’m yours. For good.

Something with a promise.

...

Back at the train station, the sky had started to turn grey. Rain slightly drizzling over the covered platform as Hosea tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch gentle as always.

“Don’t cry,” he murmurs, a small tear falling down your cheek.

“I’m scared,” you admit, glancing down at the train ticket in your hand. You hadn’t told him where you were going. You figured it was safer that way, for everyone involved. Hosea hadn’t asked either. Maybe he didn’t want to know. Maybe he just didn’t want Arthur beating it out of him in the long run.

It didn't take much for you to imagine the storm of Arthur riding back into camp. Throwing tongue every which way when he realized his bed whore had gone missing.

The twisted thought slightly comforted you. You knew Arthur well enough to atleast know he would be mad at your departure, no matter what he had told you before he left

“You can always write,” he says, voice full of hope “Don’t know how long we’ll be at Shady Belle, though. You know Dutch.”

You manage a watery laugh." Oh, I know." You falter for a few moments as you gaze into the wisdom laced eyes of Hosea, his soft look sending you into a spin of tears. “I’m just scared of being…”'

"Alone," he finishes your sentence.

He chuckles. “We can’t be such a great bunch that you think there’s no one better out there.”

You give him a humorous look, tears still staining your cheeks. A happy goodbye. “You know that ain’t what I mean.”

The train’s whistle shrieks in the distance. Passengers begining to stir from their seats, grabbing bags, shuffling to the edge of the platform.

Hosea turns to face the tracks, then glances back to you. “Promise me one thing,” he says, his voice low and firm.

You look up, eyes wide like a doe.

“Don’t come back lookin' for us. Save yourself."

...

Arthur’s horse thunders down the muddy path toward Shady Belle, his coat soaked and his wallet a few hundred dollars lighter. The gold ring in his pocket - a golden band with a pearl in the center - feeling like it weighed a thousand pounds.

He imagined you wearing it. Naked on the banks of Ringneck Creek, riding him, the ring catching sunlight as your hand brushes over his hair.

Utterly his.

The camp is quiet as he gallops in. He doesn't even bother to untack his horse, too charged with excitement. He leaps off and storms through like a mad man, eyes scanning the outlaw camp for a sillouette of you.

You weren’t there.

But your strange dissapearence doesn't even register until two small fists beat into his back.

“You no good son of a...”

He spins, catching Abigail Roberts wrists mid swing. She thrashes against his grip, wild with rage.

“What the hell?” Arthur stammers, confused and surprised it wasn't you beating on him. He would understand if it was you, warranted in fact.

But Abigail?

“She’s gone, you bastard!” the black haired beauty snarls, driving her boot into his groin as hard she can.

Arthur collapses, wheezing as he drops her arms from his grip.

From across camp, John jogs over, pulling his wife's arms behind her back in anyway to control her outburst.

Arthur's painful wheezes dissapear in a moment's time, turning to an almost panic.

“What...what she mean? She's gone?” he coughs as he looks up at John for clarification, moving back to his feet.

John grimaces. “She’s gone, Arthur. She left."

Arthur froze.

Gone?

No.

You didn't know how to ride, wouldn't dare try to find your way in swamps like these. And above everything - you had said you loved him, just last night.

You wouldn't leave.

And he was ready now. Finally ready to love you back the way you deserved.

His stomach twisting, panic shifting to fury, anger.

He turned to John, eyes flashing. “Where did you take her? Couldn’t stand that I was happy for one good time in my life.”

John face drops, angry at just the accusation. "I ain't take nowhere," John sneers, continueing to hold Abigail back from trying to rip Arthur to pieces. "But I don't blame her for leavin' you either."

If John hadn't been using Abigail as if she was a human sheild, Arthur would have torn his brooding equal to shreds at that very moment. But before he could push the black haired woman away, a gentle voice cuts through the shouting.

Arthur turns, all eyes finding the small frame of Hosea Matthews. The old man sits at the dominoes table, calm as ever. Standing up and pushing his chair in without his eyes leaving the game.

"I took her to the train station in Rhodes," he speaks

Arthur’s anger breaks, replaced by something broken and raw. Lips parting.

“I told you not to hurt her,” Hosea says, eyes finally meeting the cowboys. More dissapointed than ever.

Arthur couldn’t keep his gaze. His eyes dipping to the tips of his boots. Shame rolling over him like a wave. If it had been anyone else -John, Bill, even Dutch, he’d have thrown fists.

But it was Hosea.

The one who warned him.

The only who told him to do better.

Arthur’s voice cracks as he breaks the silence, barely above a whisper. “Where is she?”

Hosea shakes his head.

“Gone, she's gone Arthur."

[moonlight-prose]

i feel like I’ve been ignoring my boy so what do you think about hello/goodbye hugs that linger + joaquín torres?

who knows why?

a/n: this request has sat in my drafts for so long i can't remember when you sent it. but the yearning i had for torres in 2021/2022 has come back tenfold. and of course it had to be another friends to lovers arc. i always feel as if he's the perfect character for something this soft. plus you and i both know he's just that one friend you end up falling for after years of denying it. (i listened to DtMF to capture all those emotions needed.)

summary: the orders came in quicker than you wanted to accept. a place far enough to drag you from the friends made and family found. but when the time to say goodbye arises feelings begin to bleed through.

word count: 1.8k+

pairing: joaquin torres x reader

warnings: angst, fluff, goodbyes that are painful, joaquin is hopelessly in love, friends to lovers, teasing as best friends do, angst (because it's who i am), goodbyes.

The years were cruel to a soul that ached. Time that passed with fluid ease around someone stagnant—trapped against their will. Emotions tangled in a web that clung to their heart became a companion you were familiar with, a friend that complied to its own decisions. Wild. Untamed. Unpredictable in the face of everyone…especially him.

“I could go with you.” He fixed himself to the door frame, arms crossed and body stiff, as noise echoed behind him.

They were taking shots in the kitchen. Pre-gaming the final night out before they were handed mission orders. You could practically taste the cheap vodka from your perch on the bed—the pungent scent of lime chasers wafting through the open door. The night was meant to be filled with ease. Bar hopping, a club on the off chance it wasn’t spilling out with people, and early morning pancakes to curb the hangover.

All before the inevitable goodbyes.

The bitten back tears and watery smiles. The raspy promises of next times that would turn into almosts and unsure possibilities. You loathed that which couldn’t be stopped. A half filled life with friends who were found further away each year you tried to find them.

“You can’t go with me,” you sighed, wiping at the shitty eyeliner that never seemed to stick. “Wherever they put me is where I have to be. No friends allowed.”

A curl of his lips ensnared you—pulling at the fragments and tendrils of a heart that couldn’t take much more. “I could call Sam. Get him to do me a favor.”

“Nice,” you drawled. “Calling Captain America just to bug me wherever I wind up.”

“You can’t say you don’t enjoy me bugging you muñeca.”

“Never said I don’t.”

“You implied it.”

“Estas loco.”

“I’m not-”

A shrill overbearing voice you would know anywhere simply by the way Joaquin tensed as she stumbled down the hall—a half empty can of something you couldn’t read clutched in her sticky hand. “You’re gonna save me a dance tonight Torres.”

You dug your teeth into the side of your cheek, busying yourself with a mascara wand. Somehow her flirting always resembled a threat, but you speculated it was the twisting of your pulsating heart that told it differently. Joaquin was always one to appear polite. Saying yes in the face of those who would overlook how his brown eyes turned sharp. Piercing to the gut of whoever pushed him too far.

Hope flourished like a maddening inkling—another piece added to a forever half finished picture—when he shuffled away from her. You were insane to cling to it. Something so small even as he appeased her drunken pleas for more than just awkward conversations.

“Yeah…” You dug a nail into the palm of your hand, swallowing the ache that formed like a stone at the bottom of your empty stomach. “We could probably do that.”

The pleading gaze he threw your way went overlooked for the eyeliner that still had to be applied. A mundane task to distract from the way he was dragged out of the room, a raucous cheer of friends welcoming him back into the fray. He wasn’t yours to keep from the fun. Certainly not someone you could place a claim over after years of friendship—the hope of something more diminishing with every passing year.

You couldn’t delude yourself into believing things would change. The orders were pinned on your board to be taken in the morning, a harsh slap of reality placed upon the life you might never have. But you could accept that. Getting your first post wasn’t meant to be tangled with a man, especially your best friend.

So you’d grin and bear it. A familiar action you were used to submerging yourself into.

“Vamos!” Your friend shouted, giving you just enough time to grab your phone before they shuffled out into the front yard.

Orange lights blinded you the second you crossed the club’s threshold—flashing with the rhythm of the music. Everyone dispersed before you could ask what the plan was, leaving you to stumble after them. Three vanished into the throng of people on the dance floor, loud music blaring a reggaeton song you recognized from years ago. The bar was crowded, people packed into such a small space—the alcohol flowing with ease given the summer heat.

“Lost?”

You jumped, Joaquin’s hands steadying you in the heels that stuck to a tequila layered floor. “I think we’ve been ditched.”

“More fun this way,” he shouted over the music. “Means we don’t have to babysit.”

“I’d say we can get drunk, but…”

He nodded, palms slipping into yours. “I dance better sober.”

“I doubt that!” you laughed.

“Oh that’s how it’s gonna be? Mírame.” Yanking you close enough to avoid getting stepped on, he twirled you into a familiar two step. Muscle memory snapping to attention the closer he got—his touch sliding to grab at the fabric around your hips.

Dancing with Joaquin felt like home. A familiar realm of comfort that finally gave you the chance to fall into his touch—your body melting into the fast beat of the song. There wasn’t much room to move, people crowded in until they spilled out the front doors, but you ignored it for the favor of having him close. The heady scent of his cologne and sweat coated your senses, blinding you to the cheap tequila you could practically taste off everyone else.

Someone rammed into your back, elbow knocking the wind out of your lungs. “Fresh air?”

His hand clasped over yours. “Way ahead of you.”

Nearly getting hit in the head by two men spinning their girls had Joaquin dragging you quick enough to trip you. His body acting as the barrier for such a large crowd—stepping into the role of protector until you were no longer around to need him.

How could you explain that to lose him would rip the ground beneath you usually steady feet? That to leave him was destroying the very gravity that held you firm on the ground.

“I won’t miss this place,” you muttered, sucking in a lungful of crisp air until the burn spread across your chest. “Too many fucking people.”

He grinned, thumb catching the thrumming vein along your wrist. “It’s not so bad.”

“Well…no. It’s never bad with you.”

“That right?” Lips pulled into a smirk you’d seen a thousand times over, mischief screaming in eyes that bored into yours.

“Cochino! I wasn’t thinking that way.” Yet even as you said the words you laughed. For the simple reason that he was your favorite person, your small slice of joy on days that offered that all too familiar shadow of darkness.

He laughed and your heart lit up on the inside, the agony of leaving, the grief of losing him, dissipating while you stood in his shine. Such a small thing to miss but even as you realized it you knew that not a day would go by where you wouldn’t miss everything about him. Small pieces of your life scattered into memories you wished you could pick up.

What you wouldn’t give to have taken more photos.

To solidify his image in ink and tie it to your heart.

“I’m gonna miss this,” he admitted, the cool breeze washing over you. “Gonna miss you.”

“Yeah…”

Tonight you wouldn’t tell him. Not when the hours were still young and the orders that hung like a cloud over your head were nonexistent until morning. So you chose the easy route—push for more time, make whatever this was exist in the present for as long as you could live in it. For your sanity…and his.

“Coffee?”

He smiled, squeezing your hand. “Absolutely.”

“You got everything?”

Dropping the bag, you watched people in a similar uniform shuffle onto an already tightly packed plane. “I think so.”

“You sure? Can’t forget the snacks or headphones for the pendejos who snore or-”

“Joaquin.”

“And make sure you snag a good seat. Don’t sit close to the bathroom. Trust me-”

“Joaquin,” you snapped. “You’re acting like your mother.”

His hands covered your face before you could grab them, pushing your head back with a snort. “And? She knew her shit.”

That much you knew to be true. Nights spent crowded around a small kitchen table, homework scattered beneath heavy plates weighted down with arroz con carne, salsa smeared on the corners of what was once perfectly lined notebook pages. Days splayed out in his backyard, the sun scorching your skin as he played football with his cousins. Music blasting from shitty speakers in his room, a fan going high enough to kill the lights in the whole house.

Life that you’d give anything to go back to. Moments you had seared on your skin, burned behind closed eyelids. You could taste the salt from esquites bought down the street—a frozen Gatorade stuffed in the back of his fridge for days his practice with soccer ran long.

He’d been the love of your life since you met him.

If only the two of you had figured it out sooner.

“I-” You sucked in a breath, hands curling into fists. “I’m gonna miss you so much.”

Gathering you in a hug tight enough to pop the ache in your spine, he buried his face into the rough fabric on your shoulder. You did the same with his comfortable denim jacket—a piece of clothing you should have stolen long ago.

“We’ll see each other alright?”

You bit back the thick swell of tears. “Hopefully soon.”

“You forget,” he laughed. “I’ve got the favor of Cap on my side.”

“Don’t piss off Sam Wilson with visitation days okay?” you sighed, digging a hand into the soft curls at the base of his neck. “Just…go be a hero. I’ll make sure to tell everyone I know Falcon is my best friend.”

His smile pressed to your neck, hands tight around your waist. “Bueno. Someone has to know you’re cool.”

“Fuck off,” you sobbed.

Pulling away felt impossible. A feat you couldn’t have pulled off even if you held all the strength in the world. But his arms were loosening and his face was close to yours and suddenly you understood why people died for the meager touch of fleeting love. It would be so easy to kiss him, quicker than breathing. And yet…you watched as something flickered in his eyes.

Confirmation that your time would come; it just wasn’t right now.

“Good luck,” he murmured, swiping at the tears he could catch. “Until next time?”

You nodded, hand curling around his wrist. “Until next time.”