#blame ms swift for this

[starofthefullmoon]

happy mother’s day :)

[polkadotplayhouse]

mmm I'm small but I have to do homework!! not fair!!!!

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I see you are open to Ms Spade/Lilia prompts. I am seeing a lot of speculation that Ms Spade might have been a delinquent in her youth like her son Deuce. It would be funny if Ms Spade and Lilia got to talking and the topic turned to the crazy things they've done in their pasts. Who has the crazier story: delinquent Ms Spade or former General Vanrouge?

Referencing this unofficial blog event!

adklbaboiyfyegea It might be hard for me to write stories in headcanon form, so instead I ended up doing general headcanons for delinquent!Dylla and Lilia sharing their experiences with each other!

Curiouser and Curiouser...

Dylla is very shy with sharing about her delinquent days. She holds a lot of shame and guilt about that era of her life, especially since she blamed herself for being a poor influence and a bad mother to Deuce when he went down the wrong path. It's only when Lilia talks about his own past as a veteran that Dylla gains the confidence to let him in on her secret.

She's still not that proud to talk about her delinquency, but Lilia lends her the encouragement and the kind ear she needs to truly open up. When things get to be too much and the feelings overwhelm her, Lilia stays with her and holds her until Dylla has stopped sobbing. "There, there," he murmurs soothingly, a hand rubbing her back. "Let it all out. A good cry will set you straight."

With time and practice, Dylla becomes accustomed to sharing her stories. It's hard to believe that she was ever insecure about them to begin with, not when Lilia grants her so much strength.

She's surprised that Lilia fought in a war before--and not only that, was served as a general--because he's so tiny. (Huh, that's odd. Dylla doesn't remember there being a war or major conflicts in recent years. She wonders which war Lilia is talking about, but he doesn't elaborate.) But Lilia reassures her that it's the cutest ones you have to look out for.

He demonstrates a few of his moves from back in the day, each of which Lilia has lovingly granted an overly embellished (almost magical girl-esque) attack name. Moving with lighting fast swiftness, he very adorably chants, "Ora, ora, ora 🎵 Watch out, I'll kill you dead 💞 Take this! Lilia-chan's Super Special Axe-Grinding Roundhouse Kick~!"

He casually talks about all the people he killed--"My, I was quite the reckless roughneck in my youth. If only I could go back now and properly mourn their losses."--while squirting ketchup all over the omurice she made for him. Dylla awkwardly laughs, but only because she thinks he's making a dark joke. (Lilia was, in fact, not making a dark joke.)

One day, Lilia brings his magearm with him to show Dylla. He even encourages her to try swinging it around! ... Which she does, and nearly chops off some of his bangs in the process--but he took it in stride and came out of it unscathed.

Dylla was a self-described speed demon. She loved riding fast on her bike--a hobby Deuce also picked up--but seldom rides anymore. After all, she has to keep her driving safe and smooth, especially when she's on the job! "Oh? I would love to go out on a romantic ride with you someday," Lilia tells her. "Let's do it--and no holds barred, okay? I want to see how fast you can truly take me."

Her fashion used to be a lot more daring. Leather jackets, combat boots, bold animal prints. Now all that remains of that era is the roots and strands of her bleached her. "You should consider experimenting more!" Lilia suggests, fingering his own hair. "I used to have this much longer, up in a ponytail--and I regularly dye my streaks different colors."

Compared to him, Dylla thinks her stories are much tamer. Sure, she committed minor crimes (shop lifting, skipping school, drinking while underage, being a public disturbance, etc.), but the worst she ever did was get into fights with peers. "I think I was just lost," she admits to Lilia. "Lost and mad at the world for not guiding me." He takes her hands and looks at her tenderly, whispering, "... And I as well."

Lilia mentions that he used to have a crush on the person he was sworn to protect. "That story," he admits with a sad smile, "is one that ends in tragedy." Dylla's heart aches--not with jealousy, but for him and the pain he feels. She takes his hands--like he has done for her--and lets him know she's there for him too.

At the end of the day, both Lilia and Dylla understand that they're changed people, and they're so proud of each other for that. They have new lives, new children, new identities--and each other. They aren't lost or mad or alone anymore.

[greenorangevioletgrass]

fever pitch (b.b.) - part three

previous part | series masterlist

soundtrack: don't blame me - taylor swift pairing: footballer!bradley x popstar!reader synopsis: you and bradley spend the night, but the road to heaven is full of obstacles; some are external, others are self-inflicted. warnings: language, public scrutiny (will be a recurring theme in this fic ha!), bradley is a stand-up guy all round, fluff, smut (d/s elements, praise kink, bit of a bratty side?, fingering, oral [f receiving], dirty talk, size kink, bradley is PACKING, protected sex) notes: i'm back! life has been crazy since i posted the previous chapter, but i just wanna say thank you so so much for your patience and your kind words about the fic so far! big shoutout to @gretagerwigsmuse and @teacupsandtopgun for being absolutely GEMS in brainstorming ideas-- this wouldn't have happened if it weren't for y'all <3 happy reading!

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The Langham, Sterling Suite. Ask for Holly Golightly ;)

Bradley smiles at your text, and the cheeky “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” reference. He shoots up a quick reply as he makes his way out to the lobby, fighting hard not to be grinning like an idiot to any unassuming passersby, until—

Click-click-click-click! FLASH! FLASH! FLASH!

“Hey, it’s Bradley Bradshaw!”

“Oi, Bradley! Give us a smile, mate!”

“Bradley, did you get to meet Y/N inside?”

“Did the boss let you out on a school night, Bradley?”

”How are you feeling about the Sunderland game this weekend?”

It’s a meager distance from the steps of Annabel’s to the curb where the valet has brought out his car, but holy shit. It doesn’t usually get nearly as crazy as this. He’s partied here with Harry Styles, and nobody bat an eye when the guy stumbled out drunk with his left tit out. But maybe it’s because Harry lives in London sometimes, or maybe because he was on a break… unlike Miss Americana on her world tour right now. It makes him pause and rethink how careful he needs to be.

Bradley gets into his car and drives off, trying to tread between the fine line of quick and careful. He can’t help but look over the rearview mirror more often than normal. Fuck, is this how you feel like all the time? He’s no stranger to the spotlight, but rather than the occasional run-ins, nobody has ever been interested in where he went to dinner on a random Tuesday night.

The Langham is barely a mile away, but Bradley sees photographers parked across the hotel with their long-lens cameras and disgusting disposition, and he keeps on driving. Thinking. Restrategizing. Hoping that his vintage aubergine Ferrari isn’t causing suspicion for driving by the second and third time.

He finds a basement parking lot behind the building and pulls up, hoping it’s the right entrance to the hotel. The attendant looks starstruck as he nods and points the way, sending him off with an eager ‘Come on you Gunners!’. And just like that, he makes it into the lobby out of the pap’s sight.

Be cool, he reminds himself, you��re only as suspicious as you seem to be. He comes up to the reception desk, and the girl behind it greets him warmly.

“Good evening, sir. Welcome to the Langham. How may I help you?”

“I’m here to see Ms. Golightly at the Sterling Suite,” Bradley says smoothly. “Holly Golightly.”

“And who am I speaking with, sir?” The girl looks at him like he seems familiar, but can’t quite place him. 

“...Paul Varjak,” he states, unable to bite back the smile. Oh, the thrill of giving out a fake name with the very real possibility of getting called out on his shit. 

But she nods and grabs the telephone, dialing into your room. Blissfully ignorant of the pseudonym he just gave her. 

Good. 

Let this inside joke be the two of yours alone.

The elevator ride up is peaceful—too peaceful that he can hear his heart beating and his palms sweating. Even the carpet mutes his footsteps towards the double door. Before he even presses the bell, a bodyguard opens the door for him.

“Mr. Bradshaw,” he nods curtly. It’s one of the guys from the restaurant earlier. Middle-aged, stout and rather short, sporting a permanent scowl and a vibe that indicates he’s seen some shit.

“Hi. Sorry, I haven’t got your name…?”

“Guy,” he deadpans.

Bradley wonders if that’s his real name or he’s just saying it so Bradley would get off his case, but smiles anyway. “Nice to meet you, Guy.”

Guy hums gruffly and ushers him into the foyer, an identical hallway of the hotel, with a room on each side. “Through here,” he leads him towards another set of double doors at the end of the hallway.

Meanwhile, you are full-on freaking out in your living room. Should you get changed? You’ve taken off your heels, but getting everything off feels so premeditated… You don’t even know if he wants things to go that far. Maybe you can break your little rule and bring out the wine for liquid courage? Gosh, nothing feels right. And it’s been so long since you’ve last done this that you’ve actually gone rusty.

And before you get to decide—in the long, wasteful twenty minutes or so you’ve been pacing, you hear a knock on your door.

“Coming!”

You rush over to get the door and there he is, coming out victorious through the hurdles, smiling at you.

“Thanks, Guy. I’ll take it from here,” you dismiss your security a little too quickly, nodding over Bradley’s shoulder. You’re sure Guy is rolling his eyes all the way back to his room over your lovestruck teenager behavior.

But it hardly matters when this man before you is looking at you like the sun.

“Hey, you.” Bradley beams at you from his spot. As if afraid to invade your space somehow.

And so are you. This feels like that night in the garden all over again. You have to remind yourself that this isn’t some pocket of a park you stumbled into; this is your hotel room. 

Quiet. 

Private. 

Safe.

“Come on in.” You let him cross the threshold, closing the door behind him the warm foyer light cast golden upon his face. You’re not sure if it’s the fact that you’ve ditched your six-inch heels, or that there’s no one else, but Bradley looks even taller than you remember him. Broader. More… imposing.

“I’m sorry for taking so long. There’s cameras everywhere and I had to—”

“It’s okay,” you try to reassure him. It feels rude to ask if he got caught on camera, but at this point, you had to ask. “Did you… Did they…?” 

Bradley quickly shakes his head. “No, I took the basement entrance, out of sight. We’re good.”

”I’m, uh… sorry for the fuss.”

”Hey, it’s no trouble at all… Ms. Golightly,” he tilts his head, grinning at your chosen pseudonym.

”Yeah, it changes every time. My last stop in Tennessee, I was Clarice Starling,” you admit, making him laugh. “Although I’m glad you got the reference… Mr. Varjak.”

He simpers, very proud of himself. And with that, he takes a step closer to you. Towering over you. Crowding you with his smile, his scent, his body heat… and neither of you makes the first touch. You’re painfully aware of how his gaze keeps dropping to your lips. Bodies drawn towards each other but tied in place for some reason. It seems like despite all the flirting you did at the restaurant, everything goes out the window once you’re alone.

You’re just two strangers, caught in a thrilling game of push and pull. Too scared to tip over and just… fall.

“Can I kiss you…?” Bradley breathes out. He feels foolish for asking, but it’s the only way to make sure he’s not ruining the entire evening.

But you sigh in relief and nod your head yes, and it gives you the push you need to close the distance from him. You don’t know which one happened first; touching his lips with yours, grasping his arms for balance, or standing on your tiptoes on his shoes. He keeps you there, his strong hands securing your waist.

“You’re making me feel like a kid…” It makes you giggle into the kiss, and he can’t not possibly fall in love with the sound of that—with the feel of your lips pulled up right against his.

“I don’t think that’s a bad thing…” Bradley runs his hands down your sides gently. “Besides, I’ve been wanting to do that all night.”

“All night? You mean you’ve been thinking about making out with me while I tell you my life story?” you gasp, feigning shock and offense.

He laughs again. “Maybe for a moment or two there, I’ll admit.”

“I thought you were a gentleman!” you give him a playful smack on his behind, and there’s a flash of… something in his eyes. A spark, or a darkening. You’re not sure what it is yet, but it sends butterflies into your stomach yet again.

Bradley tucks some loose strands of your hair behind your ear. “I’m still a gentleman.”

“Really? I don’t believe that…” you sway his hips lightly, “I think you’re very… very bad,” you purr out, your lips barely touching.

He meets you halfway, and it feels like less of a shock this time. You gladly lose yourself in him, knowing you’ve crossed the line now. You finally notice how his mustache scratches your skin in a nice way, how he holds you flush against him, how he just melts into you in the kiss… enshrouding you in his warmth and lighting you on fire at the same time. 

Bradley pulls away, barely just. His forehead is still pressed against yours, your noses are bumping, and his breath melding with yours. He licks his lips and you swear you can almost taste it. “You’re making it really hard for me to be a gentleman, kid…”

You can’t help but chuckle at the nickname. It’s not one you expect, but it sounds right somehow. “I didn’t invite you all the way here to be a gentleman.”

The twinkle in his eyes darken. Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of him. “Is that right?” Bradley’s hands slide down your hips, finding the swell of your ass and giving it a firm squeeze.

The air catches in your throat, and you swallow lightly. “Mm-hm.”

Instead, you lead him into the bedroom. Bradley is right behind you, barely a step behind. His hands have found a home on your hips and he seems adamant to stay there for a moment. Insisting to hold onto you because he worries he’ll get ahead of himself before you’re ready. But gosh, you’ve been ready all night and you’re practically twisting your arms around trying to reach the zipper on the back of your dress.

“Come here, I got you,” he rasps, his heart skipping as he drags the zipper down your back. He’s not sure which one he loves more; the dip of your spine that he wants to trace with your tongue, or the way the dress falls to the floor and reveals what’s underneath that prim and proper pink dress.

A tiny scrap of lace held by a black strap on either side of your hips, framing the swell of your ass perfectly.

And he swears, for a split second, he thought he had died and gone to heaven.

“Fuck…” he breathes out.

You can’t turn around fast enough. It might be a good ‘fuck’, but what if it’s a bad one? “What’s wrong?”

Bradley just blinks at you, for no other reason than how your nipples are poking out the side of the skimpy triangle of your bra. And that your lipstick is smeared on the edges from kissing him.

But of course, your mind is already racing from the lack of response and you’re already thinking, oh no this was a bad idea I shouldn’t have worn this—

“Hey, hey…” he sees your face fall and your arms come up to cover your chest and he immediately steps in. Holding you close, hoping to give you comfort. “Is this all for me?”

Oh, shit. Maybe if you close your eyes tight enough, you would melt to the floor. “I know, it’s a little much—”

“No, that’s not what I asked…” Bradley tilts your chin up, making you look him in the eye. “I said… Did you put these on for me?”

Your breath comes up short, and you nod ever so slightly. You don’t even trust your own voice not to betray how much you want him to like it. How much you want him.

“It’s perfect. I love it. Thank you.” He smiles into your lips, kissing you there. Spelling out how he feels with his hands on your ass, his mouth on yours. “Such a good girl…”

That flips a switch in your brain and he can see it. Your eyes go wide, your posture changes, and all of a sudden, you look so… small in his arms. So vulnerable, so beautiful. So perfect. 

Suddenly, he’s holding the world in his arms. The sexy little thing you call panties is a pesky little nuisance now, and he can’t wait to get it off of you. His broad shoulders are keeping your legs open, his nose nuzzling your pubic bone as he looks up at you.

Bradley lowers you down on the side of the bed, settling on his knees before you. Committing every inch to memory by touch, from your ankle to your knee, up the inside of your thighs. When he reaches the scrap of fabric at your core, he feels it slick. He smirks. “What do we have here?”

Your face heats up. How the fuck are you supposed to answer that? No words are coming to your head—not when he’s drawing patterns over your pussy, making the lace glisten all over. And when your panties are positively ruined, he draws his hand back and licks the offending fingers in earnest.

And all it takes is a taste to send him into a frenzy. 

“Fuck honey, need to taste you…” he murmurs between feverish kisses all over your legs. “Can I?”

You nod fervently, feeling like he’s got you under a spell.

“Use your words, kid.” He grins, playfully biting the inside of your thigh.

The sharp sensation makes you yelp, and you grip his hair in reflex. “Yes, want your mouth on me, please…”

“Good girl, asking so nicely…” he chuckles, satisfied with your response. Then, he pulls you to the edge of the bed. That dainty scrap of lace you call panties is a pesky nuisance now, and he couldn’t wait any longer to get it off of you. With your legs hiked up on his broad shoulders, he dives into you. 

A taste, as it turns out, is an understatement because what Bradley does is devour. 

“Oh, fuck…” you gasp sharply at the contact.

With one hand pinning your thigh open, he laps you up in earnest, figuring out the many ways he can make you squirm. Time ceases to exist because it feels like he makes you come in no time, but also he’s been down there forever. But he goes on and on and on until his name comes out in a desperate chant of lust and need. 

“Bradley Bradley Bradley…” she grinds shamelessly into his mustache now, an unfamiliar but not unwelcome sensation on your part. “Please, I’m gonna…”

“I know, honey. I got you. It’s okay.” It’s an oddly wholesome thing to say in a moment like this, but maybe you’re a hopeless romantic at heart, because sweet nothings get you off.

Your orgasm strikes like a thunderbolt, and you find yourself arching into his mouth. The more you take, the more he gives—or is it the other way around?— It seems like he takes as much pleasure in it as you do. Maybe even more, as he holds onto you as you squirm away overstimulated.

“Bradley… wait.” You grab a handful of his hair, trembling breathlessly.

His mustache glistens when he comes up for air, and he finally (finally!) takes off his suit jacket as he stands up. He eases up on the throttle and lets you breathe for a second. He rolls up his sleeves to his elbows, watching you spread out like a feast for him. Legs open, bra askew, hair fanned out on the pillow… God, he’s so lucky.

When he returns on top of you, you’re eager to pull him by his belt buckle, but he brushes your hand away. You frown in protest. “But I wanna touch you—”

“It’s not your turn yet, honey,” he chides you teasingly.

“You just had your turn!”

He shrugs, nosing your cheek. “Well, it’s still my turn, so…” Bradley closes the gap again and kisses you openly.

The taste of your arousal on his tongue makes you dizzy, but it can’t distract you from the buzz of his fingers rubbing your devoured pussy, sending shivers down your spine. It’s entirely too much, and you keel over from the contact.

“Somebody’s a little sensitive, huh?” He grins, easing the throttle a little.

“Fuck you…”

“Well, if you say so.” He slides his middle finger in.

“Ohhh… Bradley…” you buck up your hips and moan. But in comes another finger, and you swear it feels like all of him. 

He’s wound differently this time, like a man on a mission. With his fingers crooking and stroking your silky walls, beckoning you to come closer, while you grip his shoulders, willing yourself to hold on. But his teeth yanks the edge of your bra to set your nipple free, and his sly tongue finally gets a taste… all resolve goes out the window.

“Come on, honey. I know you got another one in you…” he breathes out, undoing the front clasp of your bra so he can suck your tits with all his might, willing you to come.

And frankly, who are you to say no?

The burst of pleasure hits you from your core to your fingertips. If he wasn’t pinning you down on top of you, you would have probably floated away. But you’re firmly laid on the mattress and feeling everything. Your eyes blink back into focus as you come down from your high.

You pant, staring at him in disbelief. Nobody has ever put that much attention on you in bed before even taking off his clothes. “You got a baseball bat in there or something?”

“Something like that.” He rolls his eyes playfully. Jokingly, you assume.

You take his arm, kissing his wrist, “Can I touch you now?” sticking your tongue out to lick his digits clean of you. Putting on a show as you suck his fingers. “Please?”

He throws his head back and groans. “Fuck.” He can’t resist that doe-eyed look you’re putting on, nor can he resist you undoing his shirt buttons. He can play dominant all he wants, but he knows that the truth of the matter is, he’s all wrapped up around your little finger. “Okay, okay. You win.”

It’s a mess of unbuckling pants, kicking off shoes, and tossing clothes to the floor. Your hand reaches out to trace his gleaming skin, every ridge of his abdomen. You’ve seen the Calvin Klein campaigns and the Men’s Health covers— and gosh, he looks like a dream. But when that thing just springs up to his stomach when he pushes his boxers down…

You didn’t expect him to manifest straight out of your wet dream.

“Holy fuck, you weren’t kidding about your baseball bat,” you breathe out, head tilted as you stare at his thick cock. The vein that runs along the side, the way it curves slightly to the right, the length that makes you clench at the mere thought of it… Fuck, it’s pretty.

Bradley chuckles sheepishly. He knows how big it is, he’s heard all the jokes in the locker room, but hearing it from you hits different. “You scared?”

You should be, a little. But without flinching, you bite your lip and look him in the eye. “Nah, I’m a big girl. I can handle it.”

Gosh, he loves you. He’ll have to remember not to blurt that out too early. “Okay, big girl,” he chuckles, kissing you one last time before rolling off of the bed.

His sudden disappearance out of sight makes you frown. “Where are you—” you prop yourself up on your elbow, seeing him fish out a packet of condom from his trousers pocket, “Right. Safety first.”

Bradley nods, tearing the packet open with his teeth and rolling it on. There’s something so hot about how a man looks just before he fucks someone. “Mm-hm. Gotta make sure we’re both covered.”

“Do I need goggles and a helmet, too?”

He pauses as he straddles your hips. “Maybe next round,” he cheekily quips back. The idea of you wearing nothing but a helmet and safety goggles weirdly makes his cock stir, too. But you’re already lying naked under him, and he doubts that much will deter his hard-on.

Bradley pushes himself into you a little, and your eyes water as you whimper out in a blur of pain and pleasure. And here you thought two of his fingers felt full…

He stops in his tracks, trying to gauge your reaction. He nearly lost his mind over how tightly you’re clenched around him, but he doesn’t want to presume. “Too much?” He asks softly, stroking your cheek. 

Your breaths run ragged as you look up at him, almost in awe. “You’re just… so big…”

He laughs breathlessly. He hates to brag, but it’s true. And as much as he’s enjoying the way you flutter under him, he has to ask, “Want me to pull out?” Please say no, please say no, I don’t think I can handle it…

“N-no…” you wrap your arms and legs around him, clinging to him for dear life. “But I don’t know if it’ll fit.”

Bradley smiles at what has to be the most adorable look he’s ever seen from you. He kisses your forehead in reassurance. “I’ll go nice and slow, okay? I promise.”

Feeling this small and vulnerable so soon after meeting someone would usually set all kinds of alarms in your head. You never know how a guy would take it. But in this moment, nestled in the crook of his neck, among the mix of his perfume and aftershave and his natural musk… all you want to do is stay. “Okay,” you nod softly.

“Let’s try again then, hm?” He kisses your temple and whispers in your ear, “Open up, love.”

With a deep breath, you bite back a whimper as you take him deeper, still not quite all the way in. “Hurts…”

Bradley stops again, his concern fully taking over now. “You sure you want me to keep going…?”

“Yes!” You surprise yourself with how quick and desperate you answered him. Your eyes shut, trying to offset the warmth setting over your cheeks, as you make the dirty admission, “I… I like it when it hurts.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

Bradley has to remind himself not to come on the spot, because holy shit. He wouldn’t go this hard on a woman so early in the game, but… his head is dizzy from how innocently you said it. He takes a breath to pull himself together. “Tell me if it’s too much, alright?”

The air is heavy. The room is silent. You can hear the shift in the tension as you smirk, “Yessir.”

There you are, you little devil. Bradley simply grabs you by the hips and bottoms out inside you. Your face goes slack while your cunt tightens around his cock, and it blows his mind.

He starts out slow, torturously so. Stuffing himself inside your crevice and dragging himself out, willing you to feel every inch. Every ridge. Until your body loosens up and twists around in the throes of passion. Your mouth falls open, your little gasps and moans coming and going as he pleases.

The unhurried pace is nice for a few minutes, when you’re still adjusting to his size. But now that he’s snug inside you, you’re simply aching for more. Your hips arch up into him halfway, a little more urgent, disrupting the rhythm with a pleasant stutter.

He notices this and smiles. “So eager… what’s the rush, hm?”

You answer with a groan. He has a penchant for asking you questions you can’t answer, this man. “You feel so good, baby…” you murmur headily, hands desperately grasping on him—his arms, his shoulders, his back…

”You feel even better.” He nips at your pert nipple, relishing in your angelic little filthy cry. Fuck, he can feel the exact motion of your pussy tightening for him. “I’m not gonna last long if you keep doing that…”

”Then don’t.”

His eyes flicker onto yours immediately. You’re gonna be the death of him, he swears…

You grab his hair by the fistful, keeping his gaze. “I want to feel you come inside me.”

”Oh fuck—” he doesn’t stand a chance. His body reacts faster than his brain could compute, and he holds your hips flush against his as he buries himself as deep as he can. Every twitch of his cock sends you reeling, and your pussy clenches and unwinds in your climax, following him down from his high to yours.

Free falling, hand in hand.

Bradley rolls off of you and you would complain, if it weren’t for the way he immediately pulls you into his chest. Thank fuck. You’re not quite ready to untangle from him yet. Not when your breaths still run a bit ragged, as if accidentally catching each other’s. He presses a kiss to your forehead, and it feels unlike your regular out-of-town hookup. No, this one’s different. But not a word is said between you on that for different reasons— each of you holding your cards close to your chest, as close as you’re holding each other.

[oh-saints]

You could write something like friends with benefits with Ruben Dias but he really falls in love w reader 😬 ? you can decide the rest just make it angst

you really can blame back to december (taylor's version) for this. who's ready?

saudade

(portugese) a deep emotional state of melancholic longing for a person or thing that is absent; desiderium.

it was a word rúben only learnt in front of his oldest flame. his favourite flame. however, between the two of them, did time heal everything?

rúben dias x doctor!reader word count: 4.5k prompts: above + summer fling + @julianalvarez9's post here (sorry, girlie, gotta twist your idea a bit) tw: explicit foreplay but suggestive smut 👀 note: y'all can blame ms. swift's newly released album, okay? well, aside from the depressive mood lately and recent work stress, the particular song kickstarted me to write my arse off like i just broke up with my ex (when it's an old news already lol). but as usual, i happen to write this at dawn so not beta-read yet. song: back to december + all too well

“oh, there she is!”

oh for the love of god, you know you were late, okay? when you hadn’t stopped running back and forth for two consecutive days straight to save everyone and their mother’s lives, it was pretty understandable to take the chance of hibernating the first thing you had a day off, right?

“after an eon of disappearing,” the groom—your favourite cousin but god did he love basking attention—raised his glass towards you, and you could only smile his way through the gritted teeth. “I’m glad you decide to grace us with you presence, Your Majesty.”

but of course your family wouldn’t understand that, for they lived a totally different lifestyle to yours, despite begging you to enrol yourself to the most prestigious medical school. ironic now that they were the ones who always begged you to come home when you felt like you’ve moved to your home the moment you got accepted to the most reputable cardiology and cardiothoracic department in the country.

so you smiled wider—for the appearance, of course—but you said nothing back.

you were still regulating your breaths, palpable by your huffs and puffs as you took the empty seat—god if the bridezilla got mad because you took the wrong seat, you’d fight her because it was already a sacrifice on your end to drag your ass to this weekend full of wedding festivities—and before you could do anything else, a glass of water was shoved your way gently.

“you look like you need one.”

you were not surprised by the voice. he sounded like he looked like—rough, buff, strong, bulk. you were rather surprised at the small smile thrown your way when he handed you the crystal, filled with clear liquid.

oh, the choice of drink, too, by the way. in a weekend that would soon be filled with endless flow of champagne and other alcoholic and questionable options, he chose still water.

realising you were still eyeing the glass in his hand, his demeanour changed slightly. “not a fan of water?”

“I thought you’re kind of a beer guy.”

your response sent him into a laughing fit because honestly, rúben was expecting you to throw a flirty banter. with an evening gown that rocked a thigh slit as high as the bride’s ego, you looked more ready to have some fun from the get-go.

but the sound of that deep, masculine laugh did wonders to you. heat immediately run through your entire body, and you immediately knew you liked it more than you thought you should because you kept wanting more. more of his laugh, more of his voice, more of his smiles, more of his scent. more of him.

“it’s too early for that, no?”

with the way he lifted his eyebrows teasingly, you almost questioned your decision to become a doctor. you’d definitely been missing out this special specimen beside you, due to burying yourself in between your patients’ body—literally, in order to save their lives. you really need to go out more often.

or maybe, you need to step up the game while you can before hospital took your fair share of fun as soon as you landed back home. shivers ran down the underside of your arms at the last thought.

fuck it, then. if there was one thing hospital taught you the hard way, it was to might as well enjoy things while it lasted.

you grabbed the glass of water from his hands—his skin felt exactly like it seemed—before signalling for two flutes of champagne. the server went to grab your request as you shoo away your thirst with the water and then proceeded to down the champagne when the server was back in the vicinity, all while never straying your eyes from his. “in Italy, nothing’s too early, no?”

and that was another laugh you’d come to like. god, if coffee did no longer work on your bloodstream, someone should get her that as her daily fix of adrenaline dose before her night shift started.

the man in front of you took his portion of champagne and said his thanks, his eyes held yours like there was no tomorrow. despite the roughness in his facial features, stubbles and all, his smile was warm. and for you, the whole combination was what made your knees weak.

how could someone look so sexy and smug in all his friendliness?

“it’s rúben, by the way.”

with the small smirk slowly tugging the corner of his lips as he sipped the champagne, rúben should really consider himself lucky you didn’t jump on him and replaced the crystal flute under his lips instead.

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despite your initial dislike towards the bride—purely because you thought she had a severe princess disease—you tried so hard not to rain in her parade. no matter what, it was still her special day, probably one she’d been dreaming since she was a toddler.

also, have you mentioned that the groom was one of your favourite person on earth?

so you didn’t even dare to move anywhere outside the safe sanctuary of your table because you knew you’d be bombarded by the elders for how rarely you showed your face again in family functions like these, or for how you could not even show up with a boyfriend in tow. amongst the lineage, you were the only one left without a lover or some sort, but instead of draining your energy to explain how exhausting it was to live so that other people can live too, you stayed put.

that, and the fact that rúben provided 1001 reasons why you should stay behind with him. yes, sexiness aside, you found yourself able to converse so many things outside the medical jargons and it kind of made you miss it—the ordinary life everyone else was leading. you missed talking about the latest blockbuster movie, you even missed wearing something else than the hospital scrub and your favourite crocs for more than 10 hours straight.

you even missed the flirting phase, thanks to rúben’s impeccable ability to chime in some subtle but straightforward seduction. rúben himself already exuded some hotness, his laugh and words managed to shoot some warmth throughout your body, and the champagne tripled the heat all over you.

rúben was only downing another glass of negroni and you were only watching the liquid move from his mouth to his throat, but you needed to excuse yourself. your brain was no longer cooperating with every other organ intact to your body—you couldn’t shouldn’t think all of these forbidden thoughts inside of your mind because rúben had been nothing but a gentleman, yet you were the one who kept wanting to cross the line.

yes, rúben might’ve dropped some not-so discreet touches down your arms, on top of your knees, under your knees. yes, he twirled with your unkempt hair, tucked them behind your ears. but the groom used to do that all the time with you, just to tease you around, so what made this time different?

“I thought you hit the jackpot or something.”

and there was rúben again, his voice matched the concern written all over his face. even in times like this, when her inside was a mess all over, rúben managed to think of her well-being. damn it, he really made it so hard for you to contain the burning desire.

there, she said it. desire—a word so foreign in her dictionary recently, for she’d momentarily lost her want to study the human anatomy since the moment she walked into this party late.

“what, you’d run away or something if I did?”

despite you hyperventilating earlier, as you ran towards a balcony of this huge Italian castle looking for air, you were sure rúben couldn’t see a trace of it anymore. you were already sporting the provocating look you’d come to realise only come into the surface when stirred right—aka only rúben managed to do so by far.

and only rúben could take the outmost pride in enticing such vixen from her hiding place. you wouldn’t have braved the face to sport such dangerous dress if you didn’t have the energy in you, and he was more than glad you ended up taking your seat beside his, despite knowing you were supposed to be seated somewhere else later into the night, for he could satisfy himself with the sly and slightly naughty look you only threw his way whenever he wanted.

he’d be the worst liar on this planet if he said he wasn’t tempted to kill distance between your lips and his, so many times tonight. but his father taught him courtesy, and to do such radical act in a room full of other people’s guests would be an insolence and disrespect to the bride and groom.

but now that the matter of prying eyes was gone…

“I’d brush your teeth, of course,” a small gasp from you didn’t escape his ears. “what do you take me for?”

you smiled but you were shaking your head disapprovingly as you folded your arms in front of you. “when are you going to stop being a gentleman, rúben?”

“why should I?” the man stepped closer to you, and you wished he was still wearing the dark blue vest because you certainly couldn’t handle those specs ghosting behind the white shirt. “do you want me to be a bad guy?”

but you couldn’t also deny you’d want to see those chiselled chest. combined with that smirk and fascinating kind of mirth dancing in his eyes, would you be dead and sent to heaven? “can you?”

you were both now so close, rúben only needed to lift your chin towards his face to claim your lips. “oh, is that a challenge?”

he could easily did, by the way, with the way your lips were gaping as soon as he gripped his chin gently. but he decided to tease you more, as his nose reached down to touch yours while his body pushed you to the railing, giving him the excuse to catch your body in his arms.

your brain was now completely unwired, your limb was moving the way rúben orchestrated yourself like a maestro to his favourite instrument. all you remembered was to hold on to the back of rúben’s neck and the side of his strong arm, as he gathered you in his sturdy embrace, and chanting don’t fall, don’t fall to your now-airhead.

when he finally tipped your chin to his desired angle and your lips caressed one another, your breath turned shaky and it gave him an immense sense of pride. he’d been wanting to have this, dropping hints here and there so you’d let yourself free of expressing your inner self, because he knew you wanted the same thing too.

“what do you want?”

if anyone went wet at his usual voice, wait until you heard this version of rúben.

you could already feel yourself turning into a weak excuse of a puddle. your brain was melting, your inside was evaporating.

“tell me what do you want, baby, and I’ll give ‘em to you.”

it wasn’t that you were shy to voice them, but it was because you couldn’t find the words. funny how you could read endless words and medical jargons and yet, gone was everything inside and outside of yourself, including your so-called dignity you were often praised for when you were doing your rounds, when he dropped the word baby to call you with.

so you raised yourself on your tiptoes and pushed yourself towards him.

“uh, oh,” damn it, you forgot he was a footballer. he was paid to use his reflexes on weekly basis. avoiding your advances were nothing against his job. “words, baby.”

“you,” you managed to breathe out the simplest word you could find in the currently short-circuited brain of yours, but the very word seemed to please the man, whose smirk went wider oh-so sexily. “want you, rúben.”

if it wasn’t for the fireworks going off at the background five minutes later, rúben would’ve succeeded in making you fall apart in record time. but rúben didn’t know the word give up so while he kept to himself for the remaining of the night, he’d come looking after you as soon as the party ended and everyone went back to their respective suites.

you, too, certainly didn’t see this coming. but when rúben immediately kissed you senselessly as soon as you opened the door—well, as soon as he pushed you inside and opened your pathetic excuse of bathrobe, that is—you weren’t complaining. you even helped him shed the rest of your fabrics before unbuttoning all of his, all without separating yourself from him, because the last time you did, you never got the chance to chase your high.

“but, rúben, tomorrow’s the wedding!” you squealed as he lifted your body, your legs immediately locked your position against the large man, as he walked you both to your bed. “we’re so gonna be late, rúben.”

he was peppering your neck with kisses as he placed you down the mattress, rousing giggles from your end. “that will give them a story to tell, no?”

“you’re crazy—oh, oh,” the crispiness of your laughter was interrupted by the sensation of rúben’s tongue devilishly sucking your sensitive spot. “oh, fuck! fuck, rúben, fuck!”

if his tongue wasn’t twirling the bruising skin so well to soothe the pain, you’d smack the smile you felt against your skin. “well, they say that what happens in Italy, stays in Italy.”

“I think you’re mistaken for what happens in las vegas, stays in las vegas—oh, fuck, rúben…! don’t fucking stop.”

“is that so?” oh, how dare he stop?! you sat up when rúben halted the wet ministrations of his tongue against your breasts, about to protest the footballer, when he pinched your budding nipples. your head immediately fell back to the pillow, surrendering yourself instead. “can’t seem to remember. you keep distracting me, meu anjo.”

the sensation of his warm saliva against the coldness of his fingers’ pads were unlike no other that you mewled out the loudest moan you’d ever done. so disgusting you had to bring down his lips towards you to shut yourself up. “should we go to las vegas instead?”

“tonight?” rúben popped a now-hardened nipple of yours, and the sight was definitely something you could not erase from your memory. “I can call my plane.”

“don’t tempt me, rúben, because we know this weekend is going to be boring from the looks of it.”

“let’s bring las vegas to us, then.”

long story short, rúben brought you las vegas and its glory every chance he got during the weekend.

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“must we go back to reality tomorrow?”

the giant central back chuckled at your submission. you were tucked under his arms, your fingers were drawing air on his chest, and somehow he knew you were pouting as you did so. it never ceased his wonder how you could be a temptress for a minute, then turned into a cutie-patootie—your words, not his—the next second.

it never ceased his wonder too as to how you’d always spurt out the same question all over again, every weekend you both got the chance to escape reality, despite knowing the definite answer of yes, we all have a life to lead tomorrow from him.

many of your colleagues had inquired about your relationship with the familiar face they’d seen over the weekend on their TV screens, but you didn’t know what to answer them. you were texting and flirting all the time but you were certainly wasn’t dating. you had sex, and you happened to repeat them whenever things got tough for either of you.

it was starting to become a vicious cycle, you and him. it was an impending doom, escaping the harsh reality only to seek for harsh and explosive sex instead of facing them head first.

he should’ve said no to every of your calls, but you crying over another life you failed to save wasn’t something in his card to ignore.

you should’ve said no to every of his calls, purely because you knew you were another rebound or another anger fuck from the losing game, but you didn’t have the energy in you to think of any reason to say no, not when you’ve racked your brain to save the failing life of your patients.

you both became a constant fixture, the only thing guaranteed good, when all else failed in your respective lives.

including the romantic aspect of your life.

but how could it not fail when rúben always picked up your calls when you had a bad day—that bad that you didn’t have the energy to have sex with him? he’d listened to you crying before stopping yourself, he’d listened to the silent you gave him because you were processing things. he’d listened to them all before offering to pick you up from work, no matter how stupid it looked like for him to slide in his vehicle at 5 in the morning when he had to be back at the training centre at 9 sharp.

when he couldn’t be around when you were having a mental breakdance, rúben would send you and your team a mini buffet for your lunch so you could share happiness the same way you shared him your devastation. so you could be back on your feet in no time because time is of essence for your job, your patients need you to be strong and healthy so they too could do and feel the same.

rúben—bless him—even spared his time to visit your patients when december came around the corner. he’d cheered them up, like the way he always did around you and for you, and even gave the kids and their caretakers gifts so they didn’t feel bored spending the festive holiday at the hospital. the next week, he brought over his entire football team just because one of the elder patients said he was a fan of his team.

he did all that, like a true gentleman you’d met the first time at your cousin’s Italian wedding, only to drop you the biggest nuclear bomb right on top of your head, right on christmas eve.

it was a dinner hosted by one of his teammates. he’d asked you to come because he knew you didn’t prepare for any last minute plan when your surgery schedule fell through—the patient died before you could save her—and thought the merry atmosphere would turn your sour mood to a better one.

you, from the beginning, didn’t want to go because you didn’t feel like intruding. and maybe, you shouldn’t have come.

the host, rúben’s captain, asked what kind of relationship you both were having, just as you were about to call for the men to join the women in the kitchen because the food were all ready to be served by now. but you never joined either side because of rúben’s answer.

“I’m getting married,” you remembered vividly. “she was nothing but a good fuck.”

＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊

but that was—what, five years ago?

you’d moved on with life, and that included moving far away from home to london. you obtained your specialist degree and was now under the tutelage of the best cardiovascular professor in town. you were often credited as prof. nagelsmann’s golden child because of how much the professor adored you, for your vast knowledge and eagerness to learn, as well as your hardworking attitude.

if people knew that you were studying till you broke your neck and had constant nosebleed till exhaustion took over your body at first only to put your mind somewhere else…

well, they didn’t need to know that. people only needed to know that you lived and breathed for the hospital now, because you’d now come to terms that life and death was two of the things that you were sure of to happen. nothing else were as definite as those two.

well, maybe also the jinx when you stashed away your hospital scrub for ordinary clothing as you clocked out of your shift.

as soon as your junior called your name, just five steps beyond the hospital territory, not even your car in sight yet, you knew you had to go back inside and save your kdrama marathon for another time. “code blue?”

your junior nodded and immediately jumped to describe the dire emergency. you were also handed the patient’s medical record. “male, 35 years old with CoA[1]. his stent’s infected so we have to do replacement but his CT scan shows hemothorax[2] and raptured aorta as well.”

your legs wanted to give away when your eyes spotted the name.

it’s ivan dias.

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rúben couldn’t believe his eyes.

there you were, explaining the whole procedure his brother would be going through. clad in your hospital scrub with no make-up, you were still as beautiful as he’d remembered. not even signs of time grazing your skin, as if the cold temperature of the operating theatre froze away the concept of time from your face.

your natural look was what initially drew him into you. in a room full of people caking their faces in the latest make-up trend, you definitely stood out in his eyes. you even outshone everyone else, including the bride, if he was being honest. and when he found out you were more than a pretty face, it didn’t take him another minute to settle his decision to make you stay behind in the table with him, so no one else could take you far away from him.

possessive, people would say to him. a trait he thought he’d hated in everyone else, but a trait that turned out to be something that showed up only whenever you were concerned.

but god, did rúben want you. so bad he felt like he could kill anyone else who casted you a seductive glance, despite you not acknowledging them.

and it made him hate himself because he was turning to be everyone else he’d come to hate. he didn’t want to be selfish, he didn’t want to push everyone else for what he solely wanted. he didn’t want you all for himself—he shouldn’t want you all for himself.

you both were only friends after all.

at least, that was rúben used to think of. because who the hell listened to another person crying for hours, if not for friends? who the hell picked up another person at 5 in the morning, if not for friends? who the hell reminded another person to eat so they could take care of their patients, if not for friends?

so he did everything he could, including dating around till he painted the town as red as the possessiveness he wished to hide, in hope he could diminish this niggling feeling that was bothering him day and night. he sought help and read endless books, just so he could validate the peculiar emotions he was feeling, that only vanished when you were around.

but nothing satisfied him. nothing was the answer to his long-standing question. even when he decided to jump the big gun and got married with someone else that didn’t even understand a simple arithmetic question, rúben still felt the gnawing hole inside of him, that was still thirsty of something he didn’t know of.

the hole grew into a big, black, gaping hole as his marriage went on. the hole even swallowed the existence and the idea of the two of them, the couple that could perfectly plaster the covers of bridal vogue, into a mere memory, burned to ashes and blown to the sky.

even then, too, rúben only wanted to see you. because being around you always brought strange waves of calmness to him.

so he did, only to find you go off the grid for good. he’d asked for you to everyone he knew and everyone he thought could possibly knew of your existence, to no avail. he’d thought of going to your home and asked to your parents but he decided to go against it because he respected you and your decision—he always does from the first moment he met you.

he remembered he didn’t even want to touch you until you succumbed yourself entirely to his palm, and he promised you he’d do that and he intended to keep his end of words, be it when you were around or not. he could only pray to God to meet you again in due time and course, when you were ready to see him again.

but now… god, did he want to scream out loud in happiness. you were still as gentle as ever, having handled fragile lives in your hands of both the parents and the guardians. your voice still reminded him of an umbrella under a blazing hot day, as you elaborated ivan’s condition to his parents. your hands still reminded him of a silk handkerchief tucked properly under one’s suit, as you touched his parents in reassurance.

only then did he realise that this sharp feeling inside of him, only you could provoke such intense emotions like a dagger stab to his heart, was longing.

he’d longed to have you in his arms again, despite having you there all his previous times with you. he’d longed to have you around him again, despite being around you. no distance was still a distance per his standard. and he realised he’d made the biggest mistake by not proclaiming you when he had the chance.

fuck possessiveness, he wanted you back.

after all these years, he still wanted you so bad.

“I knew you’d succeed,” rúben sat down with two cans of your choice of beer. “I haven’t had the chance to congratulate you. congratulations, by the way.”

“thank you,” while you flashed him a smile, you smiled rather awkwardly and scooted further away from him. like you were scared of him. like a child was scared of what a stranger had in their hands. “i—”

he didn’t like that you were getting further away from his reach. he couldn’t launch his old moves on you again if you did. “I hope you still like Budweiser.”

“I do, but I’m sorry, do I know you?”

but it seemed like he’d lost you now, the way he’d lost you years ago.

[1] coarctation of aorta; a birth defect in the aorta, where it is far narrower than normal, blocking the blood flow to the body. on severe cases, it is so narrow that it can back up the blood flow to the left ventricle, forcing the muscle there to work twice as hard in order to distribute blood the way it’s supposed to be.

[2] hemothorax; a presence of blood is detected between the chest wall and the lungs. commonly, may be caused by blunt trauma or by complication of a disease.

[sleepyfan-blog]

Rotten Hope (2)

Author’s note: Part two of the Typhus x Reader fics. I blame you all for the botflies that have spawned because of this.  this 4,595 words long. Why has this man infested my brain so much? HELP Previous

Tagged: @ms--lobotomy @egrets-not-regrets @the-pure-angel @whorety-k @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

Warnings: dubious consent, attempted seduction, forced marriage (In that Typhus decides that you and him are married now), body horror, tentacles, oviposition, SMUT, mild cumflation, demon bees, please ask me to tag anything that makes you uncomfortable that I missed

Summary: You are brought to Typhus the traveler, herald of Nurgle, to speak with him. You get far more than what you bargained for. 

You could keenly sense Typhus' presence upon this world. The powerful deamon marine of nurgle wasn't bothering to hide nor dim his curdling presence to your senses as you left the space port where your ship had been docked. Your ship - what used to be your ship - was a swift vessel that did have enough ammunition to defend itself against most pirates and would be attackers. Not that they could fend off the full might of a Gloriana class vessel, Her speed could fly circles around the much larger but slower vessel. You were also hoping that they would be focused on the suffering and agonizing souls were being ravaged by the plague, rather than a single vessel of healthy, un-touched souls. 

As you make your way through the streets of the city, you watch as the plague marines and cultists go from door to door, bearing bowls of horrific looking and smelling liquid that bubbled and glorped unpleasantly. the ragged, sickly and confused mortals peering blearily at them, falling to their knees and thankful for the stew given to them, drinking gratefully as the foul substance seemed to soothe the ragged edges of madness that was part of the dreadful blight that had taken so many of the mortals of this world. You look away, focusing on moving through the streets of the city, hearing the grateful murmurings of the mortals around you, tears falling from your eyes as you knew that the horrid stew that they were gratefully drinking would bind them to the Plaguefather.

Ah... But you'd been the one to bring these bastards here. You'd been so relieved to have found an Astartes, you'd forgotten to check if he was chaos-tainted or not, having forgotten that not all of them followed the will of their creator in your desperate search for any kind of help... And you'd found help, as the violent madness did seem to fade from the minds of the afflicted as you carefully move across barricades, still in your hazmat suit, silently hoping that the uninfected mortals realized that Plague Marines had come to this world and they had ways to flee this world, this system before they were caught and either killed painfully or turned to Nurgle's side. 

You knew that you'd been spotted hours ago, and stopped at the edge of the barricade that had been set up by the Death Guard and their accompanying cultists, despair and misery pulling at your heart as you see that the healthy mortals were being stripped of their protective gear and dragged across the barrier one at a time, being taken to where Typhus was. You swallow down the desire to flee, to hide. He knew you were on this world. You had no safe way off of this world, and if you willingly revealed your presence, perhaps you could have the remaining healthy mortals spared from the predations of the plague-ridden neverborn. You walk up to two of the guards as they glare down at the trembling, weeping mortals and call out as bravely as you can manage out "Excuse me -" Your eyes flicker over the corroded metal and twisted heraldry that both of the plague marines were wearing, searching for any clue as to what either of their ranks were. Aha! You spotted it, under the grime and muck "Sergeant, but I need to speak with your first captain, he is expecting me."

The Death Guard on the left leaned on his scythe a little, looking you up and down "The first captain won't see anyone in clothes like that, it's rude. He also said that he gave the one he's looking for a certain phrase to prove themself to be the eternal blossom he seeks?"

You swallow hard as you reach up and take off your helmet, doing your best to keep eye contact with the large marine, ignoring the horrified gasps from the mortals around you. 

"No! Lady Trader, do not-" One of the scientists pleaded, running towards you and breaking the line that they'd been put in, trying to reach for your helmet.

Two of the cultists rushed the scientist who'd grabbed you and hauled them back into line, giggling madly "Now, now, don't be impatient! Grandfather is happy to bless all of you, you just need to be patient!"

"He said... He said that Typhus asked me, little Isha, to come to him while our minds touched one another." You respond, doing your best to keep your voice as even and confident as you can manage. Your grip on the hazmat helmet is tight, but you hope that they don't notice that.

Both Death Guards grin - their fused facial plates splitting open into needle-sharp maws with dozens of spiraling rows of teeth, and the mouths on their bellies opening up and laughing raucously "So he did, little blossom! Remove the rest of your protective coverings and one of our brothers will bring you to the Herald."

You nod, stripping out of the rest of the hazmat suit as quickly as you could force yourself to move, now dressed in the shirt, shorts and shoes you'd picked specifically because it would get very warm in the hazmat suit if you dressed too warmly. It was early spring in this hemisphere and in the blood-red dawn of day it was chilly, causing you to shake and shiver in the cold. "I have done as you asked."

"Darsas! Eleghra, the eternal flower has revealed herself at the gate and is prepared to meet Older Brother." One of the guards calls out.

Moments later, two massive, mutated plague marines walk up to you, one of them on each of your sides and pick you up bodily, walking you into the secondary area. You're set down before a half-dozen Nurglite cultists who begin to frisk you for weapons - as if you could physically stand up to the might of a standard marine, much less a favored chaos marine of one of the Four - before saying "She is ready to see The Herald."

You are physically picked up and carried over to a large, grimy tent where a massive marine is partially bent over a large table, speaking with the plague riddled governor and highest-ranking nobles of the half-dozen worlds under siege of  this awful plague, each of the latter looking terrified and resigned. All of them look stunned to see you - and that you are whole and healthy, especially in the grasp of a plague marine. You should be in paroxysms of pain, gasping and spluttering as the infested flies that buzz around their supernaturally fucked up bodies devour from the inside out. 

Despite his helmet hiding whatever facial expressions he might be making, you could feel the satisfaction and delight that Typhus oozes as his gaze falls upon you, dangled in the grasp of two of his brothers. "Excellent! I was hoping that you wouldn't be stubborn nor skittish, little Isha-"

At that... Petname? Lord Alleg'fel spluttered, his abhuman (not Eldar) pointed ears twitching a little, dark eyes widening in horror "L...Little what?"

"Mmm, I am surprised that you are unaware of the eternal flower in your midst. Such beings tend to be shy and hide themselves well, unless forced out into the open." Typhus purrs "While she is able to die, her soul returns to her mortal form swiftly, unable to truly die. She is blessed with psykery and an eternally youthful body. This lovely, shy flower was hidden amongst your worlds. Grandfather blessed me with her near location and we created this plague to bring all of you into Grandfather's loving embrace... And to bring her out of hiding. Grandfather noted that I had been... Lonely, wishing for a companion similar to the companionship He enjoys with Grandmother, and pointed us in this lovely flower's direction. You are dismissed. My little flower and I need to... Talk... Privately."

Slow burning horror and guilt would have caused you to crumple to the ground, despair and fury hitting you moments later. You'd done your best to stay out of the greater Game that was being played between The Four and Neoth, and had thought that you'd been largely successful. You hadn't realized that all of this was to trap you in one place, so that... What? You'd become a plaything for the favored pawn of Nurgle? As if you were going to lay down and meekly take whatever awful horrors he was going to do to you. A low, furious growl left your chest as your eyes began to flash the bright shining blue of warpcraft, your hands beginning to crackle with the power you'd long since learned to master, your voice booming with fury "IF YOU THINK-" you started to yell, the eldritch lightning sparking around your form painful enough to cause the two plague marines to drop you to the ground. You land on your feet, hissing wordlessly, ready to fight to your death over and over again.

But Typhus cut off your words "Come now, you asked for my help, little flower, and I have given it. Besides, I even ensured that the plague that ravaged these worlds did not affect the mortals you are closest to, despite them being exposed to it."

Horror hit you, cooling your fury like a deluge of ice on a lava flow "What.... What do you mean?"

"Come now, did you really think that mundane methods of infection prevention can actually stop one of Grandfather's plagues? Surely you're more clever - or at least not that naive, my lovely flower. Although it would be very cute if you are. they live healthy and untainted as a favor to you." Typhus crooned, all but teleporting in front of you. One of his massive, clawed hands cups your cheek. The stench of death and decay is nearly overpowering and makes you want to gag. It is not helped by the undercurrent of honey-sweetness that is, strangely enough, part of his scent as well as overripe fruit. "But if you try to fight me or my little brothers, I will remove that protection from them. I have brought an entire fleet with me. Your cute little ship cannot hope to escape my brothers in the void above us."

Despair and failure rip the fight out of you, and your eyes shine with tears. But you do know how to play coy, to bat your eyelashes. You can feel the desire and want radiating off of this chaos-twisted monster, and you desperately hope that you can use that to your advantage somehow. Which is why you lean into his touch, despite internally shuddering at that, locking your mental shields tight, so as to keep your emotions from the younger psyker. "Please don't harm my crew... they are as innocent of my nature as the mortals in these worlds, Lord Typhus. I..." You do not want to, but the false apology will likely stroke his ego "Apologize for lashing out earlier."

"Mmm, I expected at least a little bit of bite and fury, my lovely Rose. Of course you have your own thorns. You merely needed to be reminded not to prick your beloved's brothers when in a pretty little temper." Typhus purrs, giving a silent signal to his brothers, who swiftly cleared the tent of anyone else. "You're so used to hiding and escaping... To have your true nature revealed would cause a fit of pique... As long as that doesn't happen again, I am willing to forgive you easily enough."

"I... I'll try... Would you please let my ship full of mortals leave without becoming ill? they are wanderers by nature and to trap them in one place would be cruel beyond words, my lord." You plea, batting your eyelashes up at him.

"Wouldn't you rather have them with you, my lovely flower? For you will be at my side now and for always. Won't you miss them if they are far from you?" Typhus coos down at you as he scoops you up and sets you down on the table, pressing in close to you as he does so. "When I found out that you're a rogue trader, I was rather expecting to you to be dressed in fine clothes, with pretty little gems accenting your lovely features..."

"Such things are not...uhm... Exactly reasonable to wear, especially in the protective clothing I was wearing over this, my lord. And I did not want to worry the mortals by wearing something... So flashy?" You offer, peeking up at h i m coquettishly, tilting your head a little before looking down "Besides... All of that artifice is... Tiring at times, not to mention ephemeral. And I'd rather my mortals be happy, if away from me, than at my side and unhappy."

"How sweet of you, my lovely rose... And I do like how simply you are dressed. It makes unwrapping you much easier. You are mine, as Isha belongs to my grandfather. We will become one, and you will be my pretty little wife." Typhus purrs, pressing you down on the table. You could hear something creak and shift in his armor before four tentacles slide out from hatches in his armor, each curling into part of your pants and ripping them off of you, as a fifth slid up between your legs and the tip rubbed against your core.

You gasp and squirm, trying to close your legs and shift away from the strange sensation, turning your head away from him as your face and neck burned in a blush that was revealed by more tugging tendrils to be a flush that spread down your chest and across your breasts "L-Lord T-Typhus! Does... Do... Right now? On a table? Is this... Is there somewhere more comfortable to... To..." You can't bring yourself to say the words that burned like acid in your mind.

"hmm? Would you like me to carry you to a bed, to ravish you properly, my pretty little flower? Is that what you'd like? I'll admit, that was my initial plan, but your sweet flirtation and compliance so far has worn away my patience. I try to emulate grandfather, but patience is not my strongest suit." Typhus purrs. You see him pull his face plat off, his face half rotted near to bone as he gives you a crushing, dominating kiss that tastes of over ripe fruit and dangerously sweet honey. When he pulls away from you, allowing you to catch your breath, you see that the sting of saliva that connects you to him has a golden tinge. "I could be... Convinced to take you for our first time together on a bed... But you'll need to do something for me, first."

You hadn't expected the bastard to be a talented kisser, nor to stir up long-suppressed wants. You blink up at him, feeling surprisingly hazy and warm from the kiss "What.. What is it, lord?" You ask, not having to feign the breathiness in your voice from the kiss. 

"For you to taste a mouthful of the honey that my bees create. Considering your reaction to just the slightest taste of it, I suspect that you will enjoy more of it. But I get to share it so rarely with others, and my little darlings have plenty to spare." Typhus purrs, his hands lightly squeezing your upper thighs as he effortlessly pulls your legs away from one another. 

You hate how much that casual display of strength turns you on, and the wetness that starts to drip from your core at that. It's been... A long time since you'd masturbated, and you hadn't had sex in... At least a century? Perhaps longer. "H...Honey?" You manage out, trying to focus. 

 The smug bastard definitely noticed, from the pleased hum and the smirk he's giving you with what remains of his lips -  and he rubs one of his tentacles more firmly against your entrance "Are you certain you want to wait that long? You're already dripping for me~! And this table should be sturdy enough for me to fuck you properly on. I'd also be happy to feed you a mouthful of my honey either way."

"I... haah! Oh! Please... Hnngh..." You start to say, groaning as one of the tentacles that had been content to hold your arms down slid over and began teasing and squeezing one of your breasts, flicking it with the tip of the squirming appendage. His stench was overpoweringly awful, but somehow that did not help you focus through the embarrassing amount of lust coursing through your system. 

"Mmm? Please what, my cute little wife? Please take you now, on the table? Or would you rather I carry you to bed, holding you close as my tendrils work you open to receive me? There may be others out and about as I take you to a nearby bed, precious flower of mine. Not that I mind others knowing for a fact that you are mine and mine alone to tease and pleasure in such a way." Typhus rumbles, the sneaky bastard's hands coming up to cheekily squeeze your ass cheeks.

You’d rather not be paraded around naked for who knows how long it takes him to find a bed for all to see… But the table is hard and deeply uncomfortable as it digs into your back. “Honey please, my lord. I… Would I have to be seen by others like this, on the way to bed, sir?” You’re gambling on what his likely kinks might be, from what you’ve observed of other marines throughout your centuries of life. “Wouldn’t you rather be the only one to see me like this… Shivering and wanting for you and you alone, my lord?” You spread your legs a little, hooking your ankles around his hips as best as you can, pulling him in closer, one hand coming up to caress the tentacles teasing your breasts, making it difficult for you to think. But not impossible.

His gaze nearly scorches you with the intensity at which he looks at you, before a dark chuckle rumbles through his chest and he pulls you in close, giving you another searing, breath-stealing kiss. “You are correct, my lovely rose. Now open up, let me feed you my honey.” His four of tentacles have shifted, wrapping around your back, arms and legs to keep you in place, while the fifth keeps rubbing and teasing your entrance and clit, sending waves of guilt-laced pleasure shuddering through your body.

Obediently you open your mouth wide, going “Ahhh~!” as if you’re eagerly anticipating whatever foul substance he’s calling honey is being fed to you. Even if the substance kills you, it won’t kill you for very long.

A smaller tendril, several shades lighter in color than the others comes out from his body and presses it’s way into your mouth, and he orders “close your mouth around this and swallow once your mouth is full.”

A thick, sticky substance quickly fills your mouth, and you let out a little sound of surprise as you swiftly close your lips around the appendage, swallowing as much of it down as you could. Still, you could feel some of the surprisingly sweet and delicious substance trickle out of the corners of your mouth. The appendage in your mouth flexes and slides deeper, causing you to let out a muffled sound of surprise - the cry getting louder as the tendril teasing your entrance abruptly slid deep and fast into your core, as your walls fluttered and squeezed around the breech helplessly “Mmm-Hmmm!” You garble out around the tendril.

Typhus chuckles, his glowing red eyes dark with lust “That’s it, gorgeous, you like the taste of my honey, don’t you? Take another mouthful, and try not to spell my cutely messy little wife.” He accentuated his words with a thrust of the tentacle inside your spread open cunt. You really hoped his cock was the size of the tentacle shoving itself deep inside of you. You can’t imagine being able to take anything bigger. 

Shamefully, the nod you give him when he asks if you liked his honey is entirely truthful, and you can’t help the needy whines that leave you when the tentacle filling your pussy slowly slides out of you, your walls achingly empty. You can taste another gush of warp-infused honey fill your mouth, which you do manage to swallow all of this time. The tendril in your mouth retreats to merely pressing against your lips. Hazy warmth begins to envelop your mind and causes a pleasant tingling sensation to spread throughout your body. “Sorry… Didn’t meant to spill first time…” You slur out, one hand coming up to collect the spilled honey off of your cheeks and neck, licking it off your fingers as you peer up at him. “Please… Husband… Take me, in bed, for our first time?” You peer up at him through your eyelashes, pouting a little as you press your naked breasts to his corroded armor.

The rumbling sound that Typhus made almost terrified you, if not for the insistent way he nuzzled your neck, leaving little kisses and bites all the way down, from just under your ear, to where your neck met your shoulders. You realized a moment later that he was purring, and the tentacle that had shoved it’s way inside your cunt earlier was steadily pumping in and out of you, prompting needy little gasps and moans to leave you as he presses you hard against the table. “OH… I understand now why Grandfather holds onto Grandmother so closely… Why she is such a precious treasure for him… Mrrr, you are a tempting little treat, but I did promise to fuck you on a bed if you tasted my honey, and I tend to try and keep my promises.” You could hear the buzz of his demonic bees that accompanied him everywhere he went at the end of his little speech..

“Ah! Hah… Please… Amngh! Ty-... Typhus! AH… My lord! Hah… the table… hurtss…. Please my lord husband! Ah! Hah… Please!” You plead, the fuzziness in your mind and the pleasure - somehow amplified by the warmth spreading through you threatened to break what little control you had over yourself and this situation into tiny little pieces. You deliberately squeeze as tightly as you can manage around the thrusting tendril inside of you “Please… bed? Now? Oh!  You… You’re gonna… haha! Make me c-cum soon, siirrr!” 

The pleased growling rumble that provoked from Typhus you hoped was a good thing. “Such a good little wife I have… fuck! You are such a tempting little thing. Hold on close~!” He purrs. You feel another’s warpcraft weave it’s way across your body, and you fight the urge to resist with all your strength as Typhus teleports you and himself to somewhere else.

Wherever it is, it’s softer under your ass than the hard metal and glass table. Warmer, too as Typhus starts leaving more bites across the skin of the other side of your neck and shoulders, his tentacles teasing your breasts and bending your legs back and away, nearly folding you in half, as the tentacle fucking your cunt moves at a maddeningly quick pace, curling and shifting inside of you in all the right ways.

You hazily watch as he pulls away, his large hands fumbling with something at his waist - a metallic thunk of something hitting the floor. You're still keening and moaning at the way one of his tentacles is filling your core full when -

Something larger begins to press inside of you, while the tentacle is still inside. You realize after a moment it's Typhus' cock "Please! Husband... Lord... I... I can't take both at once! You're too big for me, I'll tear!" You plead tearfully, the pain coursing through your body so much more than the pleasure that had nearly sent you to an orgasm.

Typhus chuckles, kissing your cheeks and licking up your tears "Easy now, my cute little wife. You'll be able to fit in both, I promise. Just breathe through the pain. I'll move slowly, I promise... Though you are sinfully tight around my cock... Such a good little wife~! Good girl... Deep breaths... That's it..."

A tiny part of you hates how his praise does seem to somehow be helping you. Your breathing is jagged and shallow as the bastard continues to press in, his thick, long cock sliding in slowly alongside where one of his tentacles is already buried deep inside your cunt. It feels like it takes an eternity for him to stop pressing inside of you, and twice that for the pain to subside.

All the while, Typhus is purring lewd praises in your ear, nibbling on the skin of your neck, and drinking up your tears. "Such a good girl... My precious, eternal flower, taking all of me in... That's it, just breathe in and out as you submit to me... Good little mate. Are you ready for me to move?"

You nod weakly, well and thoroughly trapped beneath his bulk "Y-Yes, please move, lord..."

Typhus starts purring again as he alternates thrusting in with one of his tentacles and his cock, never not filling you with one of them, a filthy string of curses and praises leaving his lips as he fucks into you hard and fast.

You claw at his back, moving your hips in time to his thrusts as best as you can, the intensity of the sensations too much for you to do more than instinctually respond back, moaning wordlessly in pleasure, clinging tightly as your first orgasm hits you.

Typhus doesn't so much as slow down as your walls flutter and squeeze around him, the bastard as he continues to fuck you, somehow able to move even faster as he fucks you through your orgasm. He does, however, bite down hard on one of your shoulders, enough to draw blood.

You couldn't say how much time passed as Typhus fucked you over and over again, pulling orgasm after orgasm from your increasingly exhausted body. Eventually both his cock and the tentacle he'd been using to fuck you for what must have been hours at minimum deep inside your core at the same time, pressing up against your cervix (causing you a whimper of pain, which he ignored) flooding your womb with cum. You swore you could feel your belly begin to bulge outwards at the amount he pumped into you, prompting another whimper to leave your exhausted and chapped lips.

Typhus chuckles, kissing you again as you feel the tentacle press harder against your cervix, before feeling something other than cum begin to fill your womb, bump by bump.

"Wh... what is...?" You slur out, too tired to form the words properly, sending the sensation through the light mental bond that Typhus had formed with you during the sex at some point.

Typhus chuckled and purrs "Geneseed, lovely one. Which you will hold inside of you until it is ready to be implanted. You make a wonderful wife, my lovely little flower." He pats your lightly distended belly with an enormous hand, clearly pleased with himself. He holds you close to his body "Rest, little flower. You are safe with me."

You very much want to demand what the fuck he meant by that, but the psychic pressure behind his command - and your own exhaustion worked against you as you slumped into his embrace, sleep overtaking you.

[th3-ann0unc3r]

I’m back for my favorite time of the day taylor swift x marauders!!!! i’m doing rep because 4th favorite album (i love rep its so fucking good but i can’t put ttpd or folklore or evermore above it….)

(thanks guys for literally listening to me rant about my 2 biggest fixations more to come soon…) (it’s almost 4 am help me)

1. “…Ready for It?”- ROSEKILLER (“knew he was a killer first time that i saw him?!?!) (that’s so them core)

2. “End Game”- Wolfstar (i love “i don’t wanna be just another ex love you don’t wanna see”)

3. “I Did Something Bad”- Regulus when he’s going for the horcrux (or peter being a spy)

4. “Don’t Blame Me”- Roskiller again (“lord save me my drug is my baby” COME ON)

5. “Delicate”- GIVE ME JEGULUS (IS IT COOL THAT I SAID ALL THAT IS IT TO SOON TO DO THIS YET?)

6. “Look What You Made Me Do”- sirius to his mom i truly don’t have an explanation i just think he would say some of this shit to ms wally

7. “So It Goes…”- wolfstar 100% (“You did a number on me but honestly baby who’s counting? i did a number on you but honestly baby who’s counting”) that line is so them it’s so fucking wild

8. “Gorgeous”- REGULUS TO JAMES (“you should take it as a compliment that i got drunk and made fun of the way you talk”) i love drunk regulus not knowing what he’s doing

9. “Getaway Car”- rosekiller but only if bartlyus was first

10. “King of My Heart”- JILY OH MY GOD (“Salute to me, I'm your American queen And you move to me like I'm a Motown beat And we rule the kingdom inside my room Inside my room, oh”)

11. “Dancing With Our Hands Tied”- JEGULUS AGAIN (“I, I loved you in secret First sight, yeah, we love without reason Oh, twenty-five years old Oh, how were you to know?”) what if reg lived and they dated in secret….

12. “Dress”- WOLFSTAR (the entire bridge makes this song so them core)

13. “This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things”- regulus about literally anything (my sassy king)

14. “Call It What You Want”- JEGULUS OR WOLFSTAR (for jegulus: All my flowers grew back as thorns Windows boarded up after the storm He built a fire just to keep me warm) (for wolfstar: My castle crumbled overnight I brought a knife to a gunfight They took the crown, but it's alright All the liars are calling me one Nobody's heard from me for months I'm doin' better than I ever was 'Cause My baby's fit like a daydream)

15. “New Years Day- sirius to regulus when they still live together…. (PLEASE DONT EVER BECOME A STRANGER WHOS LAUGH I CAN RECOGNIZE ANYWHERE) (ILL DIE RIGHT NOW)

[i-smoke-chapstick]

'DON'T BLAME ME, [PART TWO]

-GOTHAM!JERVIS TETCH X READER-

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ; You meet the man from the club again.

⋆ tags/warnings. GOTHAM!jervis x female reader. SLOW BURN!!! Not sure how many chapters this will be yet! LOTS OF PLOT SET-UP!! AGE GAP ROMANCE! (reader is Jim and Barbara's daughter) Jervis and reader are lowkey Hamilton and Burr parallels. She fell first, he fell harder. Writing this kind of artistically and as character studies for everyone. Reader's still reminiscing. Daddy issues. Jervis being an obsessive freak, per usual. More reader lore is dropped. I'm taking canon out back and beating it with a stick until it stops twitching. Jim Gordon is...Jim Gordoning.

⋆ tag list (tell me if you want to be removed!) @adalwolfgang @jervis-tetch-my-beloved @honestmrdual @moonlightnyx

⋆ 'PART ONE, - 'PART TWO, - ‘PART THREE, - ‘PART FOUR, - ‘PART FIVE, - ‘PART SIX, - 'PART SEVEN, - 'PART EIGHT, - 'PART NINE, -'PART TEN, - 'PART ELEVEN, - 'PART TWELVE, - 'PART THIRTEEN, - 'PART FOURTEEN,

♫ “Something happened for the first time, in the darkest little paradise.” Don't Blame Me by Taylor Swift

Everything feels cold on mornings like these.

The light bleeds in through the venetian blinds, gray and gloomy. You huddle into the blankets, clinging to any warmth you can find. It's your dads house, or rather, apartment. You remember waking up in a king-sized bed years prior.

Your thoughts drift back to old memories again. You wish you could push them out.

"Dad, I'm scared." You say, seven years old, middle of the night, clutching a rabbit stuffed animal. Your mom rubs her face, still groggy and half-awake.

"Hey, hey. It's okay." He whispers through his own fatigue, stretching out his arms for you to join them on the bed. "Why are you scared?"

You hop on the bed, crawling into him. Your mother tosses, turning over with a lazy hum before drifting back to sleep. You squeeze your rabbit, Mr. Marbles, and bury yourself in the covers.

"What if they get me?" You ask, voice small. You can't see your fathers eyes soften through the darkness.

"Who?" He seems to sober up from sleep at your question, clearing his throat. His voice becomes a bit clearer.

"The bad guys." You say the words like they're sacred. It feels hard to get them out, and it feels swallowing salt-water.

Silence.

"I won't let them, I swear to you." Your dads voice speaks, and in his arms, you feel sleep slowly return to you. "I'm gonna protect you. And mommy."

"What about you?"

Silence.

"Go to sleep, Y/N. Everything's going to be okay."

You fell asleep that night, quiet, waking up to pancakes, and light that was much warmer than what you have now.

You sit up in your own bed, cramped. You heave a sigh, rubbing your temples. You're not tired like you should be. You stayed up the previous night, jumping roof-tops with Selina. It was a welcome distraction, the adrenaline that pooled in your blood at night. Mornings in Gotham were worse.

You hear whispers in the room over. Thin walls. You don't care to listen as you get dressed, but you do wonder who exactly your father could be talking too.

"How'd you find me?"

"Oh, you're famous, sir. You're names in the papers. The famous bounty hunter." You wince. Jim Gordon. Your father. The bounty hunter.

You walk to the room quietly, before stopping. You see the two men sitting down, and you piece together just who exactly is on the couch.

Both men turn to face you at the interruption, and Mr. Tetch looks equally as surprised as you are. His eyebrows pull together, and your dad looks like he's been caught doing something. He knows you don't approve of this bounty hunter bullshit.

"Ms. Y/N?" Mr. Tetch calls, and Jim picks his head up at this. He gives you a look.

"You two have met...?" Your dad speaks, sizing up the situation in concerned curiosity.

Before you can answer, Mr. Tetch does for you.

"Yes, sir. We've met at the Siren's club. Your daughter, I presume?" He asks, inquisitively. He looks as though gears are turning in his head. Jim simply nods, a bit uncertainly.

"Hi." You give a small wave. Mr. Tetch brightens up at this, somehow fascinated.

"Right." Jim says, slowly. He looks back between the two of you.

That familiar feeling of silence sounds out again. It tastes bitter.

"...I want you to find my dear friend." Mr. Tetch speaks up. "We're very close. But...her condition proved too much for me. I sought help, the worst kind, the fiend. Professor Strange." He hisses the insult with venom. You watch your dad raise a brow as he sips his coffee.

"Her condition?" He asks, and you marvel at the words. How odd.

"Some poison, in her blood." The man responds, like it's casual. "very rare, unique, in fact. He took her in. Said she needed constant supervision. He wouldn't let me see her."

There's an edge to his voice. The way he talks about this friend of his. Poisoned blood, you think, curious. For some reason it embitters you. You hate this fucking city sometimes.

"You go to the police?" Your dad asks. Of course he'd ask that.

"Useless." Mr. Tetch says, solemnly. "This is Gotham, after all."

You let out a soft chuckle at that, which makes both of them look at you. Both sets of eyes zone in on you. Your dad looks disappointed.

"Well, he's not wrong." You nip, and Mr. Tetch cocks his head up. "The GCPD is a shit show."

Mr. Tetch looks surprised at your audacity, and a bit amused. Your father reprimands you.

"Y/N." He says, and you bite back a retort. He sighs, dragging a hand along his face. "Indian Hill escapees get five grand from the GCPD. You able to top that?"

You remember when all the money in the world couldn't have swayed the famous Jim Gordon from his duty.

Mr. Tetch pulls out a wide wad of cash from his pocket, "I'll double it." He speaks. Woah. Did your mom give him that much for just one show? No way in hell. He must have gotten this money somewhere else.

"I'll see what I can do." Jim says, without question. You want to roll your eyes.

"Thank you, very much." The man responds. Polite, isn't he?

You watch as your dad pockets the money, and how he's handed a photo of a beautiful woman. In a strange way, it makes you feel a bit insecure.

"Leave your number-" Jim goes to speak, when Mr. Tetch interrupts him, handing a business card. Eager much.

The man leaves without a word, sending you a final glance before he turns. Those dark eyes...they startle you. He sends a small, intrigued smile. Again, it feels like the world stops. Your breath catches in your throat.

When he's gone, you stand on your toes to hover over your dads shoulder. You two stare at the business card in synonymous silence.

"The Great Jervis Tetch" Hah. So that's his first name. Jervis.

You suddenly feel warm. Maybe this house isn't that cold after all.

[itsgrimeytime]

Magnolia in May (Part One) || Rick Grimes (TWD) x Greene!f!reader Regency AU

AVAILABLE ON AO3

Song Inspiration (in honor of Speak Now Taylor's Version): Enchanted by Taylor Swift

Summary: Your town was small, not the smallest you knew, but anyone of high fortune was the gossip of the week. Predictably, Richard Grimes was a thing of whispers -rumors of a search for marriage among the grassy hills. You weren't one to buy into town gossip, but something about him... just seemed a little too intriguing.

TWS: mentioned infidelity, abandoning children, and rumors.

[[ A/N: Is a Southern accent accurate for this time period? No, no it is not. Do I care? No, no I do not. Pride and Prejudice vibes. You are the sister of Maggie and Beth, and the daughter of Hershel. For plot purposes, I've decided you're the oldest. I was twirling my hair and giggling at this soooooo... And yes it is a quote from The Princess and the Frog. Anyway, thanks for reading!! ]]

"Oh, please," Maggie laughed, "-a rich man? Here? Never."

You added in a shushed voice, as it was late in the night, "Last man I saw around here was Mr. Knightley, and I'd surely say he's much too old for my taste."

The giggles filled the candle-gleamed room, it was coated in a special shade of orange -almost like a sunset. You thought it'd be a nice painting were you to ever find the motivation to paint.

The rumor that had been spilled in the quiet of the night was a man with a vast fortune on the hunt for a wife -nothing was known about him. Just that he was rich and wife hunting was enough for some people. Most people.

"I heard he's quite handsome," Beth whispered -across the room in her single bed, while you and Maggie shared the double.

You quipped, "I supposed someone imaginary might be so."

The pillow that went flying across the room only allowed more giggles to surmise in the dim room -an aura of pure joy.

Beth, who was now smiling but still wished to be taken seriously, "I'm serious! Cassandra a few towns over said she saw him in his carriage."

"I'm not so sure you should be looking in carriages, Beth," Maggie retorted -laughter on the tip of her tongue.

"You two are despicable," hissed across the space, as yet another pillow flew toward the bed.

It was such a far-off idea, really. A visitor? Here? Really? Alexandria was a far too quiet town for anyone to even travel to. Everyone knew everyone and so a visitor would only be talked about rather than be approached; eyes across the road, everyone would be waiting for a mistake. For something to spread.

"If there is such a man," you spoke, leaning back against the bed after the giggles were silent and the candles extinguished, "-I'd say he's rather brave for it."

You woke up that morning to the birds chirping -bright and sing-songy. It was like an alarm to you, pleasant noises against the cold of the morning and you thought just for a second... Maybe you could sleep in just a few more moments.

"Girls! We must be up and ready," her voice echoed up the stairs -pointed and sort of squeaky, "-I have some grand news!"

Naturally, your Headmistress had halted those plans -always eager to instill proper behavior. It was her job, after all. Your father had hired her, shortly after your mother had passed -a sickness not even your father could fix. It was a difficult decision, but with three young daughters and no mother, you never really blamed him. In order to excel, you needed to be married, and to be married, you needed to be proper.

"If I could, I'd hold the house on my own. But, I'm getting older and I'm not what I used to be."

Your father was much looser on restrictions, and you and your sisters would've never gotten this far with your Headmistress Elisa, tragically. She was quite the bore.

Rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you pulled yourself up -beautiful birds washed out by Ms. Elisa's fussing. Quickly brushing your hair back into something more presentable, you shook and woke both of your sisters, whispering that you'd stall until she came looking.

"Headmistress, Father-" you spoke, adjusting your dress (the one you'd hardly worn because it was terribly out of fashion) and stepping out into the open, "-good morning."

Your father was at the table, head flickering between a file laid at his fingertips -a patient, you assumed. He often took cases home that irked him or needed more thought than what he could do at the clinic. Drastically careful with the personal details, you really only learned of medical issues instead of the faces behind them. Your father was adamant in never went farther.

"Good morning, darling," Elisa smiled, a little frustration in the pull of her lips -probably at the noticeable lack at your sides, "-good to know someone listens to me."

And then she paused, eyes racking along the dress you'd chosen in a split second -as you knew she would.

"Oh, no no no-" she echoed, tsking as she pinched the fabric in her hands -eyes analyzing the fabric, "-this won't do, Dr. Greene, we need much better dresses for the girls-"

"Headmistress, I'm sure I could find something more fitting, I foolishly assumed this was just breakfast-"

"Better dresses?" he questioned, file laid closed by his hands, "Whatever for?"

That was when your sisters had joined, hair not perfect but much better than you thought it would be on the time limit. Their dresses were much the same, evidence of a lack of current fashion trends -you flinched at the Headmistress's gaze settling on it.

"Well, now that everyone is present," she spoke, tone clipped and posture impossibly straight, "-Alexandria is expecting rather prolific company."

Father straightened then, attentive to the prospect, "And who may this be? Would I know them?"

"You must-" her voice was almost dreamy at the prospect of such a lavish living, "-the man's rather well-known in Atlanta, rather, the family is. Rhee, darling."

Your father paused seeming to take in the information -like he was trying to remember if he'd known the name, or maybe specifically the person.

"But-" your Headmistress grinned, the most excited you'd ever seen her, "-there’s even more! The younger man of the Rhee name, he's close friends with the man who owns the large estate only a few miles off of here."

"It's safe to assume they'll both be around, then?" Beth asked with the shyness that reflected her age -she was rather doe-eyed.

It had always caused you to worry, your youngest sister out in the world. She was capable, really, just a smidgen naive, and such a beautiful girl can't afford to be naive.

Before the headmistress could answer, Father seemed to add some things together -the furrow on his brow prominent, "Wait, the man who owns the estate? You mean the one off the road around the Henleys?"

"The one with the lavish fountains, yes," Elisa answered, a bit disinterested in this turn of conversation.

"I know Mr. Grimes," he stated -a sort of empathy deeply seeded into his tone, "-and knowing him makes me certain he is not looking for a mistress. Not after the first one."

You pursed your brow, a bit confused by the wording, "Is the man a widow?"

Your father faltered, a bit of uncertainty flattening upon his lips, "Well, not quite, dear. He lost his wife, yes, but not the way you think."

"If you count 'running off with a soldier' losing her, you mean."

Father's face stiffened, "Miss Elisa, it's rather disrespectful to speak of a man's life that way."

"Just the truth, Hershel," she leaned in to you three -whispering the rest, "-I heard it was the man's own best friend."

"If you must know, I'd much rather tell you correctly. Mr. Grimes is a man I rightly respect," your father sighed, a bit of defeat on his tongue but you honestly couldn't say you weren't interested, "-She did run off with a soldier, General Walsh -I believe. And it was Mr. Grimes most trusted companion, a friend from youth from what I understand. Left him and the children about 2 years ago."

Maggie, who'd been silent until now, asked, "Children?"

"Yes," your father added, a little forlorn, "-he's to raise them himself. I find I empathize him."

"More reason for him to be on the look," your Headmistress tsked, "-who wouldn't want a maternal figure for their children? It'd be truly shameful."

You bit your tongue at the implication, heavy stares at your father, "I'm sure he has their best interests at heart, Headmistress. It's not right to assume a man's honor just on rumor alone."

"Not right, indeed," Father agreed, turning back to his file so slightly, "-if he is looking for a mistress, as you say he is, he'd be a wonderful suitor for you girls. So, I'm not very opposed."

And then the Headmistress was off again, fiddling with each sister's hair and pulling out old fabric for ribbons (she asked for new ones, and was met with the conundrum of dress or ribbons). She'd especially fussed over you, being the oldest of the group -she wished to have you married first. "The longer you wait, the harder it'll be, trust me, deary."

Needless to say, you were quite joyous that Headmistress had still sent you on your weekly visit to the shops.

It had intially started much like how this morning had -a wish for anyone to ask for your hand or even begin courting you. After that ended (only because any man in a ten mile radius was either not rich, happily married, or much too old), she'd requested you simply because you were the most trained.

Maggie was in a bit of a rebel streak, Headmistress surely feared any time she left the house without supervisor, and Beth? Well, she was rather well-composed but still naive. The first -and last- time she had gone, she'd spent much more than you'd probably spend in a month. Local men had swindled her and she hadn't even noticed.

You were a middle ground, already having your rebellious streak and fully knowing how to stand your ground.

That morning the market was busier than you expected, as you navigated through the stalls each one only smelling better. Your first stop was always fruit, as the better stock would always be taken early you urged to get the best... reasonably.

The man who ran the stall was kind, had a wonderful smile and always remembered your name, you found you always remembered his : Mr. Elliotts.

He was old, and seemed to only really have the fruits to his name -he was rather fond of talking and had told you a lot. You knew much about the man, and dreaded the day he'd close up shop -you'd miss him if he did.

"Hello, miss," his voice was big and grand, tone ever-so-happy to see you, "-I've got quite the selection for you today. All your favorites."

"After my heart, Mr. Elliotts?"

He laughed, a jolly sort of laugh you would've expected Saint Nick to have when you were young, "Funny, don't let your father hear that one, eh? I've got all types of berries for you, specially grown."

"Oh, thank you," you said, grateful.

Mr. Elliotts was not a clean man, you knew that much, his facial hair was overgrown, and his face was always dusted in a healthy spatter of dirt. It had always just seemed more natural to you, than the other cleaner stalls decorating the square. You knew very well you were often the only customer of his, just because he looked like he'd gotten the fruits himself.

"No problem," he grinned -big and toothy.

Once the conversation had settled, you'd ordered your berries with a sense of ease -merely pointing gently at the types just in case he couldn't hear you. You were comfortable with him and were rather fond of his presence. So even after packing away the fruit you'd bought into your basket, you still stayed near.

After the first few stories though, there was something odd.

On your arm, the basket rested -poised prettily, properly. It felt like a familiar weight at this point -used to the trips that you'd become rather excited about. But what wasn't was the slight tug on your dress -you'd barely noticed it, merely feeling like a gust of wind.

On instinct, though, your head turned to check it -eager to keep your dresses in good condition so your Headmistress wouldn't lose her head. And when you had, you'd met an unfamiliar face.

It was a little girl, her hand cinched on your dress and pulling on the fabric -intent on getting your attention. She was blond, a mess of curls gracing her head only alluding to what she had been up to earlier that day -you couldn't help but smile at her.

"Well, hello, little one," you hummed, crouching down to her side and looking around for anyone that had been looking for her, "-where are your parents?"

The little girl didn't speak, as you thought she might know a few, only leveling with your basket -brown eyes heavily focused on the fruit within. You pursed your lips, watching her as her little tiny hand extended toward you -open and shutting her fingers in a grabbing gesture.

You smiled, still flickering in the crowd for anyone with that familiar worry, "You want one?"

Still crouching down, you fished into your basket -grabbing one that she could hold and gently placing it in her palm. Her grin was a little toothy, as she with ease ate the blueberry -dribbles of the vivid blue making a mess along her mouth.

And then, a voice with an unfamiliar accent spoke about the crowd, "Judith? Where are ya? Have you seen a little toddler 'bout yay big little pink dress, blonde curls-"

Without so much as an extra thought, you gently grabbed her clean hand -keeping her close to your side. Your eyes wandered to match the voice of the man, guiding Judith back to her home. The market was a little too busy to go just on noise-

And then, you saw him.

A tall man with pushed-back brunette curls that were elegantly brushed behind his ears, and a pinch of worry in his eyebrows. He was currently turned to an older lady -crouched slightly to speak to her appropriately. You could see the brush of stubble across his jaw, and a hint of bright blue eyes.

You spared a thought, he's quite pretty. Before pushing it away, and trying to gather his attention, "Sir? Hello, excuse me-"

The man spun to your attention, blue eyes settled intently on you -a bit in shock. You immediately realized he was quite finely dressed for such an occasion, a neatly pressed white shirt and brown vest -a sort of detailed satin. Sleeves elegantly rolled up from the heat, he still looked starchly overdressed -you brushed at your dress insecurely. He seemed to start to say something-

"Dada," the girl, Judith, squealed -escaping your hand to run to him.

The man stalled for a second, eyes still set on you -before seeming to shake his head back into shape. He crouched down to match her enthusiasm, arms open wide and grinning, "Jude, thank god."

Pulling the girl to his chest, he stood. Eyes uncertainly settling on you, but still with an expert air of gratefulness, "Thank you so much, you really don't know what you've done for me, Miss uh-"

"Greene," you answered, unused to such affection displayed by a father -you found it rather charming, "-Ms. Greene. And really there's no need, I'm glad to help. She's a sweetheart."

"No, no, really-" he spoke, still a little uncertain, "-Is there anything at all I could do for ya? You have no idea-" And then he paused, looking towards his daughter with a peculiar eye (the smudge of blue still prominent on her lips) and then your basket.

"Oh, right, sorry-" you apologized, straightening the basket on your arm with a sort of nervous fidget, "-I just bought them from a stall, Mr. Elliotts, she seemed to want one. I apologize if I overstepped-"

"Could I buy ya more?"

You stalled, "I... what?"

He paused, thinking over his own words, "Well, she ate one and I'd like to thank you-"

"Sir, she only ate one," you answered -smiling at the odd idea he'd explained, "-trust me, it won't be missed."

"I insist," he carefully spoke, Judith bouncing gently in his arms a passive sort of affection you found rather endearing.

You opened your mouth, rather unused to such forward generosity -especially for something so simple as what you had done, "Well, it wouldn't-"

And then, as if the world had heard the offer (and hated you), the church bell rang -a sort of melodic noise that brushed over the center. You usually enjoyed it, keen on the tone that settled over your skin, but this time, you didn't.

"Oh, is that the bell?!" you stopped yourself, frantically looking up at the swinging golden symbol, "-I'm so sorry, I'm going to be late for breakfast. Perhaps next time?"

"'Course," he responded -the low rasp of his voice sounded quite melodic itself, you noted, "-'til I see you again. Enjoy your breakfast."

"Right, yes-" you shook yourself out of your stupor, and you think you heard him laugh, "-you and Judith enjoy your day as well, okay?"

"We will," he said -a semblance of a grin brushing across his face, you turned a bit crimson at it. All perfectly white teeth and dashing charm, "-Goodbye, Ms. Greene."

That was the last you heard, as you hurried across the courtyard -not very eager to listen to your Headmistress screech about timeliness and its importance to a proper woman. You'd imagine she'd nearly die if she could see you running through the courtyard now, actually.

You thought, just for a spare second, it might be worth it.

[zariahthewitch]

@demigod-jack-hearth @unhinged-as-hell @that-girl-cupid @the-wolf-of-ares @solshine002 @silena-daughterofaphrodite @green-child-of-aphrodite @not-available-art

[antonias-beloved]

(Head)canon: Ms Mercury is a rep girl.

This is her favourite song from the album.

[beasiannow]

Victoria Lisa Grant, V.P. of Overseas Holdings for the Royal Suffix Chemical Company, was in trouble, big trouble.

She had gotten herself high in the ranks of the company due to her having brought the company record levels of profits.

Profits she had created mostly by slashing almost all safety protocols in their overseas chemical plants.

This had generated ever-growing revenue until her luck ran out, and a tragic spill in their plant in Aurangabad made international news.

International news and a call for swift justice. For once, the call looked like it was going to be answered, with Royal Suffix blaming her.

It was only a short matter of time before Victoria would find herself not just bankrupt but even in prison.

So when another less then reputable business crony told her about a group called Quickly Hidden Worldwide that promised they could hide you away completely from seeking eyes so that no one could find you and you could keep your money (minus their massive fee of course).

So Grant contacted them, and she arranged for them to do what they did. Not only giving her a new identity but a look to go with it.

Q.H.H. had a whole lengthy process crafting just the right new ID for a client, but as the hounds were closing in on Victoria, she told them to just get her away somewhere; she cared not where. They did just that, and soon Ms Grant found herself in one of their sites, and things started to happen.

As karma would have it, Quickly Hidden Worldwide already had one set of procedures for a total getaway ready to go, but the client who had ordered it failed to show up (they got caught), so ready or not, Victoria was put through it.

Imagine her chagrin on finding that the process they used turned her completely and legally into Vasundhara Lakshmi Gurnanimurti, not just an Indian citizen, but one of the refugees from Aurangabad! Such chaos being very useful for slipping a new person into a country.

One year later, Kareena, after much stress, not just from adjusting to her new look and way of life (with language and cultural knowledge somehow implanted in her mind by the Q.H.H.) but also being in close proximity to people whose lives had been uprooted by her, had grown into her new self.

So much so that on visiting the Taj Mahal, Vasundhara found herself quietly hating the British tourists she found herself among.

[lettuceish]

why am i already crying in the first chapter.

i blame ms swift as i am listening to epiphany

[beautifulpersonpeach]

Hi BPP,

Thank you for your posts about the Billboard article. I hadn't seen it and I find the whole Billboard conversation fascinating (albeit frustrating at times).

I thought the NYTimes had a much more nuanced and less judgmental take on the whole Billboard thing, talking about how country music stars including the “Rich Men North of Richmond” singer and Jason Aldean have recently benefitted from tactics perfected by Taylor Swift and BTS fans to rule the charts -- especially the use of digital downloads. (Quote below because I couldn't link to the article)

"[T]here was a more targeted digital savviness at play, too. Much of the consumer activity that drove the track to No. 1 came via 99-cent digital downloads from outlets like the iTunes Store — an outdated format that is declining in popularity faster than CDs.

Despite streaming now accounting for more than 80 percent of music consumption overall, paid downloads are weighted more on the charts, a quirk exploited regularly by pop superfans devoted to acts like Ms. Swift or the South Korean group BTS. In often coordinated efforts, they use downloads to show support and earn chart milestones that are celebrated like wins in sports or political elections."

I feel like Billboard is just unhappy that they're being outsmarted by fans and instead of trying to figure out a way to truly determine which songs are most popular (whatever that even means anymore), they're just trying to blame it on Jimin and BTS. What else is new?

***

Hi @waitingforyouapm

I agree. Until fans began directly impacting the charts more, Billboard was fairly comfortable with music labels, streaming platforms, promoters, and other industry middlemen being the sole arbiters of what’s deemed popular and profitable. But now that fandoms are able to show that the artists they support (and with k-pop these artists are increasingly non-white and non-American), have enough demand to show up in the top 10 - an achievement historically relegated only to artists with the influence of the middlemen who always got their cut, Billboard is now in a tough spot having to explain to those industry middlemen and labels why their usual tactics no longer guarantee their artists the top spots. By making a scapegoat of non-American artists and fandoms using the same tools that white, American fandom-supported artists like Taylor Swift continue to rely on in broad daylight, they successfully redirect the blame, when all Billboard really has to do is revamp their charting paradigm completely to account for active and real demand as it’s shown in the 21st century / digital economy. It’s just easier to tap into good ol American prejudices about Asian artists, “rabid blue-haired 14 year old girls”, “Chinese femboys”, “easy to manipulate and bait female dominated fandoms”, etc. Like, the ending conclusion of the Billboard article was that Western labels should lean more into merch and building/leveraging active fan communities to spend more money lmao. Compare that to the NYTimes article that more comprehensively showed the landscape of music charting year to date, pointing out how American conservative politicians have moved their front in the culture war to music charts, pushing racist country artists to the top of the charts with tools Taylor Swift, k-pop fandoms, and other American and Latino/x artists already use.

Everybody knows exactly what the Billboard article was, because every year since 2019, we’ve gotten an article almost exactly like that one. It’s just this time, they were less shy about naming names and had an easy time painting a compelling picture given the evidence from Jimin fanbases and funding they easily linked to, to justify deleting all his D2C sales forever from charting considerations. Since ARMYs / BTS are the non-American pioneers on those charts we’re certified persona non grata lmao. In fact, going by the end conclusion of the Billboard article, I won’t be surprised if considerations for other k-pop groups are pushed this year at various awards, instead of for Jimin, or even any artists related to HYBE since they had no issue naming NewJeans. It would give them the engagement and then some, while neutralizing some of the worst criticism of their prejudices that we’re all seeing play out.

Like I said, it’s a gutter job. But one that’s unfortunately par for the course. This won’t stop BTS, Jimin, or the fandom. Not one bit.

[r1ghtwhereyouleftme]

oh hetlors will absolutely blame us if taylor comes out. as if we can make ms swift do anything she doesnt want to! personally, i will be happy to see it so long as they still acknowledge with their whole chests we were right! gay people arent crazies seeing things that arent there! call me a dyke all you want but shes one of us too >:)

LMAO exactly! Even if they blame us- we will know that for years we were right. We were always right to see her and to talk about it

[shortscircuits]

Hiiii this is a yoyok ask sorry. I'm SO glad I'm not alone in thinking it's not that great. Like I do actually really dig the lyricism and I like the way she turns the phrase on its head by the end of the song and takes the listener on a journey that way! But musically oh my god it's so boring. Like??? Do something with the melody or instrumentation I am begging you. It doesn't even have any bass??? I can't enjoy a song unless there's something going on down there yknow. Anyway that's my ask I hope ur having a good day

yes i agreeeeeee with it being boring. like its so flat conceptually. i can’t blame any high schoolers / kids who relate to the song, but i would want to make a playlist for them of better songs about feeling like a loser, songs about feeling inadequate, songs about feeling isolated…and plenty of those songs would be by ms swift herself!