#i mean it's his fault for creating this magnificent man

[illumidatingsim]

I can't believe a fanart can actually make me so DUMB. No character should be this beautiful, please

[wntrswolf]

an arsonist's lullaby

✧ pair: benjicot "davos" blackwood (fancast) x freader!targaryen

✧ theme/warning(s): dark, heavy angst turned fluff — tw: mentions of hallucinations, anxiety / progressive panic attack(s). + all characters are of age! (18+) | contains hotd spoilers!

✧ word count: 2.7k

✧ a/n: this one-shot is a gift for @ithilwen-blackwood! firstly, thank you for tagging me on your request! it sparked a drive in me that i thought had left years ago, i had a great pleasure writing this one. secondly, given the prompt, i hope you, and the other pretty readers, enjoy reading my version. c: thank you!!!

✧ summary: to dream is to escape, granting a momentary nirvana as one falls into the refuge of imagination. yet, for the princess, a night in the supposedly cursed fortress of the riverlands, dreams became not mere fantasies but glimpses of destiny that would seal unwritten fate.

Daemon’s voice roars in the vastness of the dining hall. “We shall make camp before night falls. Come the morrow’s light, we resume our travels. See to it you are rested, we have yet a journey ahead of us.” Your father meets your gaze and nods solemnly, signalling his dismissal. You return the gesture with a faint smile, acknowledging his silent command to depart.

The murmurs of the troop swelled, each hastening to claim their place within the grim walls of Harrenhal. You remained steadfast, observing the weariness that were etched on the faces of the scrambling men around you. Gradually, the ache in your body began to throb, a reminder that the arduous journey had also taken its toll on your body. Despite the envy others held with their perceptions, it was not an easy task being a dragon rider—for an adult dragon, it was a feat far from simple.

Celestrya, much like her namesake, is a magnificent dragon. Her iridescent scales of aquamarine and amethyst create a mesmerising display of colours as she glides through the heavens. Yet, behind the deceptive beauty of your winged serpent lies a stubborn and formidable nature. Beneath her elegant appearance lies a fierce determination and commanding presence that demands respect from all who crossed her path. 

Your gaze swept the hall a final time, assuring all was in order before you sought your own repose. However, capturing your attention was the distorted shadow that stood by the hearth. The wavering figure you always came to see ensnared you yet again with its haunting presence, engulfing you in its deafening whispers. As was your custom, you sought to evade the encroaching darkness, only to collide with another in your haste escape. Unaware you had been holding your breath, you gasped heavily, abruptly jolting back to reality.

“Princess,” the young man spoke, “my apologies.” The firm grasp on your arms steadied you, preventing any falter, while your palms pressed against his chest. Slightly breathless, your eyes scanned for the shadow that had mysteriously disappeared.

“Princess?”

You hummed in response, your voice barely above a whisper, “Oh, my apologies.” You steadied your breathing, glancing up at the young man to realise the close proximity between you. In a moment of fluster, you withdrew from his grasp. 

“No,” he says as he scratched behind his head, “the fault lies with me. I failed to watch my path.” his cheeks tinged with embarrassment. As you regain your composure, you recognise the young man before you as belonging to House Blackwood, evident from his attire and the sigil pin securing his burgundy-black cape.

“Should my father and I be concerned, then?” you quipped with a nervous chuckle escaping your throat, eager to lighten the mood of the exchange and conceal your own tension. Playing with the thread on your dress—a familiar nervous tic—you continued, "I mean, a lapse in attention seems trivial, but in these times of impending war, every misstep carries weight.” a subtle smile gracing your lips. 

He responds with a nervous chuckle, striving to maintain his composure. "Forgive me, my lady, but I assure you, House Blackwood stands ready for whatever battles may come—and I have seen to it myself.” He spoke his words earnestly, eyes reassuring you that he indeed spoke truth—a revelation of his confidence in both his army and himself.

You chuckle.

“It was but a jest,” you offered him a warm smile, "Nonetheless, I am heartened to hear of your preparations. I believe our houses make a strong alliance, Sir…” 

“Benjicot Blackwood, my lady.” 

“Ah, the Lord of Raventree.” you acknowledged respectfully. “I extend my deepest sympathies, and I thank you for standing as a stalwart ally in our cause. It means much to us.”

“Thank you, my lady. If anything, it is an honor.” 

“Daenyra,” you replied softly, setting aside formalities in the presence of the young Lord.

What had prompted this departure from convention? You did not know. Could it be that despite his fierce demeanour, you saw a glimpse of vulnerability? his vulnerability. Perhaps you saw in him a fledgling lord who had witnessed the brutal toll of conflict—on his kin, his men, and even those he had been compelled to confront in his duties. A fledgling thrusted into authority unexpectedly—an experience you both share.

“It has been a long day,” you continued with a chuckle, “I believe I have had my fill of the formalities for now," feeling your nerves starting to settle.

“Of course, my la–” he began, but stopped short under your playful glare, “Ahem, Daenyra… Daenyra.” His voice softened, the repetition of your name becoming more natural on his tongue. The young man had uttered your name many a time, yet with your insistence that he address you by your name, simply your name, made him feel acknowledged.

You both chuckled. 

“Although, pardon the intrusion, I hope it does not mean to offend,” he continued cautiously, “but were you alright? When I bumped into you, you—” 

He had.

He had noticed. 

“Princess Daenyra,” a slender, raven-haired woman called out, interrupting your exchange with the Blackwood Lord. You thanked her mentally; wondering if it was deliberate or mere happenstance, but chose not to dwell on it. Turning towards the woman who commanded your attention, you were immediately captivated by her mystical aura and hauntingly beautiful features. “The camp is set. We shall have you escorted to your quarters.” she announced, her sharp blue eyes locking intensely with yours, leaving an impression that lingered in your mind. 

“Yes, of course,” you breathed, turning to the young Lord, prepared to bid him goodnight. “I apologise, Lord Benjicot–”

“Benji,” he corrected in haste. You were slightly taken aback, finding the informality endearing—as it reflected your own.

“I apologise, Benji. It has indeed been quite a journey, and we are weary and in need of rest,” you replied, your nervous tic making a subtle appearance again. Glancing around, you realise that it was just you, Benji, and a few other swordsmen left in the dining hall. With a slight huff, you added, “I shall see you in the morn, then?”

“Y-yes… my lady– D-Daenyra…” he stuttered, inwardly chagrined at his stumble. Despite his embarrassment, you bestowed one last smile and nod before pivoting on your heel, the echoes of your departing footsteps fading gradually into the distance.

In your absence, he chastised himself that his worry might have gotten the best of him; it was ridiculous, really.

After all, you were a Targaryen Princess, the sole daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen, with the pure blood of the dragon coursing your veins. You inherited the ruthless and intense nature of your father, feared in combat where no man ever survived your blade. Needless to mention of the adult dragon under your command, the beast could devour him and his entire retinue, and would still be insatiable.

But amid the thoughts, he saw something in you that he could not quite describe—perhaps the sight of your gentle hands fidgeting, a stark contrast to the image of a warrior who must have slain a thousand men by now, he reckoned.

Reflecting on the moment of your collision, he realised that you, too, were simply a young woman—a lady of his own age—navigating a world fraught with responsibilities imposed by the realm. And now, on the march, leading an army of men to fight against the usurpers, and reclaim the justice that your mother, the Queen, had lost.

A familiar whistle—a melody only his dear aunt used—pierced through his thoughts, instantly capturing his attention, “Let us retire for the night, yea?” Her thumb gesture over her shoulder as she looked at him expectantly. 

"Yeah... yeah," the young man nodded, shaking his head to clear his thoughts as weariness settled in.

Perhaps he was simply tired, allowing himself to dwell on thoughts that were not his to ponder. The princess was more than capable of defending herself, even from a lord she had met that night.

And still, he did. 

It was still the dead of night, you surmised. The clamouring assembly that would rouse you from slumber had yet to commence, awaiting for the break of morn. Pain gnawed through every fibres of your being; the harsh, cold surroundings of Harrenhal offered no respite from your discomfort. Your gaze fixed on the patterns of the canopy you lie beneath, the soft patter of rain acting as your lullaby. You closed your eyes as you sought after slumber once more.

Without success, you shifted uncomfortably in the makeshift mattress, propping yourself up on the firm pillows that offered little comfort. 

You sigh.

To your confusion, a sudden breeze rustled the entrance flaps of your tent, the fabric dancing along the gentle gusts. Goosebumps prickled your skin as you hear the familiar whispering—voices that haunted you time and time again; yet, it would be the first time you heard it spoke your name, 

“Daenyra…” 

You sucked in a breath, the thump in your chest increasing its tempo. The phantom’s whispers are heard beyond the refuge of your tent. Your palm dampens with cold sweat, as terror etched itself onto your features. 

Despite the urge of pursuit, fear had kept you in its confines, afraid of probing what had lurked in the darkness—in fear that the spectre that observed you would swallow you with its frightening taunts.

Or could it be an ambush? A ploy orchestrated by the Greens. A sorceress used to alter the perceptions of the formidable princess of the realm—a plausible explanation, is it not?

The vendetta within your family: Retaliation.

An eye for an eye.

A son for a son.

They would just simply have to seize the moment, right when you are in your defenceless trance.

‘Ambush the Blacks, slay the princess and prince consort while abed, and we make the Blackwoods bend the knee to the rightful heir,' you reckon they thought.

An absurd, petty measure, but an irrefutable one closer to a checkmate. 

Nevertheless, a ruse as such would never come to pass—existing only in the realm of imagination.

You were torn between fears: a haunting apparition or mortal hands that could lead to your demise.

Your conscience came to a ground that despite the fear residing in your bones, an audacious drive took over you to follow the bewitching voice. 

The ominous sight of the empty hall sent a chill in your spine, dim candles and occasional flashes of lightning provided sparse light amid the storm. You held the lantern, a guiding luminance, close to your body to warding off the encroaching darkness and hoped that the flame would not cease; and your other hand grips tightly by the hilt, wielding your sword.

Guided by the mystic call once more, you prudently tread your way within the ruin.

“Daenyra…” The voice growing clearer and louder with each step.

“Daenyra…” Again. 

“Daenyra…” Your breath grew ragged and shallow. Panic gripping your chest like a vise, squeezing air out of your lungs. 

It was not until you reached the grand iron doors that you realised where it led you—the dining hall. Thrusting open the heavy door, it creaked loudly. Once again, you were confronted with the shadow by the fire—the sight intensifying your fear, quickening your heart. 

“Daenyra…” The once-unrecognisable voice now rang clear, luring you towards the flame.

You approached the hearth cautiously, a sense of foreboding thickening the air as the shadow dissipated. The crackling of the fire seemed to roar in your ears, the blaze casting its orange hue upon you and its warmth seeping into your body. Entranced, your brow furrowed as you stared into the flickering flames. 

The voice spoke yet again, shifting to that of your weeping mother, calling out your name.

Your body tensed, skin tingling as if touched by flames.

"Mother?" you breathed out.

Suddenly, within the flames you hear wails of anguish as a hand emerges from the flames. With a sense of charmed urgency, you cried out and reached for the hand, the flare enveloping yours with a searing kiss.

Agh!

Recoiling, overwhelmed by the blinding flash of pain, you collapsed to your knees. Your sword dropping with a clatter as the haunting echoes of voices reverberated louder than ever in your mind:

That of the cries of babes, blood-curdling screams, galloping horses, agonising shouts of a thousand men, clashes of metal, thunderous roars of dragons and fire, and in the haze, unintelligible murmurings. 

“No… no… no,” you whispered, each heartbeat echoing like thunder in your ears,

THUMP

THUMP

THUMP

The dining hall began to close in around you, the heat becoming overbearing.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trembling hands covering your ears in a desperate attempt to silence the chaos consuming you.

“Daenyra…” It cried.

“Make it stop…” you pleaded, rocking back and forth. The sword lay forgotten on the stone floor, and the lantern burnt out, its presence unnoticed in the turmoil. 

“Daenyra…” It cried out again.

“Please…” 

“Daenyra?” A male voice softly whispered to you, gently shaking you from repose. “Dae–”

You woke with a sharp breath, a sob escaping your throat.

The dark figure hovering over you prompted a renewed wave of anxiety as you sat up abruptly, causing the figure to topple back. Your eyes darted around in fear, spotting a dagger that sits on the foot of the mattress, you still as dread overcame your body—unable to muster a shout or a scream.

It was not until the soft glow of candlelight illuminating the dishevelled form of the Blackwood male that you realised you had emerged from sleep. You watch the young man in confusion as he had been hovering over you while you were abed, his blade just within reach. 

“B-Benji?” you croaked out as your chest heaved with staggered breaths. Your hair stuck to your tear-stained face, glistening beads of sweat lining your neck and chest. Trembling hands grasped onto his arm. 

“Princess,” his velvet voice replied gently, “Forgive me, my tent neighbours yours,” his eyes locked onto yours, “I could not find rest. I-I remained awake, but I heard sobs and…” 

You release a breath of relief that had been caught in anxiety.

“T-Thank you,” you uttered, meeting his gaze gratefully. For a moment, the tension in the air begins to ease. “For waking me up.” you added with a slight nod, your breath steadying in his reassuring presence.

Benji's expression softened, his gaze tender and unwavering as he, hesitant at first, gently wiped a stray tear from your cheek. "'Tis nothing," he murmured softly.

You offered him a faint smile, your hands working to compose yourself from your unsettled state.

Just a night’s terror.

Sighing softly, you wiped your palms over your face, hoping to dispel the lingering fatigue that still weighed upon your body.

At that moment, Benjicot hesitated, unsure whether to depart now that you had acknowledged his role in rousing you from the terror. Despite this, he remained seated with you in the hushed confines of your tent. His concern, which had grown since your exchange late last night and continued into the early hours of the dark morn, stirred his curiosity about your well-being before your unexpected encounter.

The fragility in your voice shattered the pregnant silence, “I…” you chuckled softly, airily. “I– I don’t know what I saw,” you admitted softly, voice slightly trembling.

“All I know is that it felt… real." you said pensively, unconsciously playing with a loose thread on the quilt that covered you. "It sounded so real.” your voice barely above a whisper.

Noting your nervous tic, “Dreams can be cruel,” Benji spoke. You watch as his hands gently took hold of yours, his thumb brushing soothingly over the backs of your hands—the gesture fluttering your heart. “But they are also just dreams, m’ lady.” he reassured with a smile.

He continued ever so delicately, "I too face the same darkness. You are not alone.” he whispered, his eyes locked with yours.

His words enveloped you in comfort, as did his mere presence—offering solace with each reassuring word and gentle touch.

You found yourself instinctively seeking if he would become a comforting constant in your moment of vulnerability. You long for his warmth, a feeling you had already sensed from the young man, since the previous night's encounter. 

“Stay… will you?” you whispered, your hands nestled in his, a self-conscious gaze falling to your lap.

He tightened his grip slightly, offering you a comforting squeeze. "As my princess commands," he replied softly, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

a/n: soooo how was it? i feel like i rambled a bit too much in my writing. my brain went haywire since i wanted to add everything i thought of (ideas were popping up left n right up n down) but i added what i could: character cameos, witch's hallucination vs dragon dream??? hihihihi anyways! do not hesitate to comment ur thoughts, i appreciate reading them! ♡

[lostfirefly]

Make my heart a better place, give me something I can believe

First of all, thank you for your comments and likes on my previous story. They inspired me to write another fic :)

When I was 15-16 years old, I wrote a poem. Those lines were not dedicated to anybody. I was sad that day and wrote them down in my black notebook. I decided to create another story based on that poem. A few lines will be written in the fanfic, but since the poem was originally written in Russian, I translated it into English, but tried to convey the meaning.

Since English is not my native language, errors may occur. As always, feel free to share your thoughts :)

Description: You're a cook on the Buggy Pirates crew. During the year you have feelings for the captain, but you don't dare to say it, but you write about your feelings in poems. One day he finds your notebook.

Main characters: OPLA Buggy (of course) x Fem!Reader. Masterlist

Warnings: Sadness, fluff (a little), insecurity reference. No smut, violence etc.

The title is taken from the song "All I need" by Within Temptation.

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

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

-Morning, doll.

A familiar voice came around the corner.

-Morning, magnificent captain Buggy. Coffee? As usual? - you asked with a smile.

-You always know what I want, - the blue-haired man said in a voice hoarse from sleep, plopping into a chair.

You smiled, stood on tiptoe, reached over to a large mug and began pouring coffee into it. 

 - Here you go, captain! - you said, holding out a mug, - What are your plans for today?

-I'll make a little foray into town, we'll resupply and head away from this godforsaken place, - Buggy said, sipping his coffee. 

-Sounds great.

-I'll bring a present for you, doll, - he said, running his hand over your cheek. 

-Thanks, but I have everything I need, - blushing, you lightly tried to pull away from the touch.

-Liar. Anyway, I'll get something for my baby girl, - he said, putting his hand on your wrist.

You awkwardly ran the fingers of your other hand over his arm. All you wanted was for him to get up from the table, put his arms around you and kiss you.

You stared at him, trying to hide your feelings. 

You've been flooded with memories. 

**********

A year ago, you ran away from home just to be away from your abusive family. A father who yells and beats you every day, a mother who takes his side and says it's all your fault. And an older sister who also happily participates in the bullying.

You decided to find any job. There were no vacancies in town, but you overheard someone in a bar talking about a pirate ship needing a cook. A ship? Oh, great! What a perfect way to get away from your old life.

The bartender told you how to find the ship.

-You wouldn't mistake it for anything. Look for the flag with the big red nose.

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

-Captain Buggy, sorry. There's a girl at the door and she's here to ask about a job, - said a man in a tartan scarf.

-What? What girl? Although, ok, let her in. It's gonna be fun, - a man's voice came from the cabin.

When you walked in, you saw a blue-haired man with a red nose. With the whole ship resembling a circus, the first second you thought the red nose was also part of the circus image.

The man sat on the table with both feet on the barrel. He glanced at you with his green eyes.

You quickly scanned him from head to toe. He was wearing a striped vest, brown leather pants. He had a red and white striped bandana on his head and white gloves on his hands.

-What? Are you looking at my nose? - he said angrily.

-What? No.. I came to ask.., - you were nervous, your voice was quiet.

-What? Is it me that old or are you that quiet? I can't hear you, - he asked with a sneer in his voice.

-S-sorry.., - you cleared your throat and tried to speak more confidently, - I came here to ask for a job. I heard you need a cook. I'm good at cooking..

-How old are you? - he tilted his head slightly and squinted his eyes, - You look pretty mature. Aren't you supposed to cook dinner for your husband?

-I'm 27, sir..

-Sir, - he started laughing.

Not understanding what was so funny about what you said, you continued.

-No, s-s... captain.. Buggy. I ran away from my family. And frankly speaking I don't think they would be worried about me... and I don't care about them.., - you mumbled.

-Ts, doll... Tell me. Do you realise you want to join the freak squad? What does it mean to you to be a freak? - he interrupted you and suddenly reached for a knife on the table.

You stared at him with a question in your eyes. 

-I'm waiting for the answer, - he threw the knife into the barrel and looked at you, - What does it mean to you?

-Does it count if I say that I don't care about my life? - you tried to say it as convincingly as you could when you weren't even sure of your answer.

-Shit.. , - He got up from the table and slowly walked over to you, - Reply is accepted. I think, I can find a place in the Buggy Pirates for you. Every freak can find a home here. Welcome on board, sweetie.

He walked out of the cabin laughing.

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

When everyone left the ship, you were still in the kitchen. The dishes were washed. You sat on the chair and thought about the captain. You could still feel the warmth of his hand on your wrist. What was it this morning?

Yes, he showed you signs of attention from time to time. Sometimes he could put his hand on your shoulder or waist, he always cheered you up when you were sad and always brought small gifts from his pirate raids. But at the same time, you realised that you were part of the crew and he just cared about you as much as anyone else. Plus, there were other girls on board. They were taller, slimmer and more attractive. What makes you think you're special? No, you weren't special.

You took a piece of paper and started twirling it around the table.

You picked up a pencil and began to write.

Tiredness pulses quietly in my veins, In the midst of silence, I'm alone in my cabin. There's life outside the walls, but who cares? I'm sick to my stomach with someone.. No one hears, no one sees, no one asks. Whether it's something or nothing. He's somewhere else, God knows where, The draughts are painful in my soul..

You smiled and hid the sheet in a small black book. Every time someone on the crew asked about this notebook, you said that it's nothing special, you just write down recipes in it. They don't need to know that you've been writing poems dedicated to the captain for a year now.

**********

The crew returned late at night. Before dinner, Buggy came up to you holding a little pink box.

-I promised to bring you a present, and I kept my promise, - he said with a wide smile.

-T-thanks, but you didn't have to, - you said looking at his green eyes.

-Geez, woman, I'm a man of my word. Take it!

You opened the box and gasped when you saw the small amber bear inside.

One night, when you were both sitting on the deck, you told him about your favourite figurine. Your grandmother, the only person in the world who cared about you, had once given you an amber bear. It was your talisman after her death, until one day your father broke it. He did it on purpose because you accidentally dropped your tea mug on the sofa.

Buggy didn't forget. He didn't forget what you told him.

-Maybe it's not the same bear, but at least you have it now, - his voice snapped you out of your memories.

-I really like it! Thank you so much, - you said and in surprise, you hugged him, - Sorry.

-It's all for you, my candy, - he said, chuckling slightly.

**********

You couldn't sleep. You went out on the deck to get some fresh air when suddenly you heard a noise from the kitchen.

You decided to go and check it out. When you quietly opened the kitchen door, you saw Buggy, who was looking for something in the cabinets and muttering something to himself.

Suddenly he fell silent and didn't make a sound for about 10 minutes. You tiptoed over and decided to get closer because it was impossible to believe that Buggy could be silent for ten minutes.

Shit. He was sitting on the floor, wearing his pyjama pants, holding a notebook with your poems. 

-God, please, stop sneaking around like a mouse. I know it's you, - he said calmly.

-I'm sorry. I didn't want to bother you.

-You can't bother me, baby girl. And tell me is that yours? - he asked, pointing at the notebook.

-Y-yes.. Sorry, - you whispered.

-Sorry? For what? Sweetheart, you need to be clearer in your expressions, otherwise I don't get it, - he asked and put the notebook aside.

You stared at him not actually knowing what to say. He stood up and came closer to you. You were trying not to look at his half-naked body. To tell the truth, it was the first and at the same last thing you wanted to see right now.

-For poems. Sorry for the poems, - you said, sighing heavily. You were afraid to look at him.

-You shouldn't be sorry, - he whispered and leaned into you.

He put his hand on your cheek and turned your head gently.

-Did you like it? - you asked.

-I didn't like it. I loved it.. as much as I love you, - he glared at you with his green eyes and leaned in a little closer.

**********

You woke up in the morning. It took you a minute to come to your senses. You got out of bed and grabbed a t-shirt hanging on a chair and hoping to find your clothes later.

-Where are you going, doll? - A voice came from under the blanket, - Get your ass back here. 

-I thought I have to go back to my cabin, - you said, fixing your hair.

-The only thing you have to do is get back under that damn blanket. The captain’s order, - he wheezed, finally sticking his face out. He put his hand on your shoulder and pulled you back down.

-Waaait! What about breakfast and morning coffee? - you asked with a laugh. -Coffee and breakfast can wait while we lie down for a while. Besides, if my freaks get hungry, once in a lifetime they can put damn butter on their own damn bread, - he mumbled as he nuzzled his face into your neck.

-Alright. But only for 30 minutes, ok? And then I have to get back to my cabin before the girl starts asking questions, - you said, running your hand through his hair.

-Fine, - he chuckled, - And then you'll make me a coffee, ok? -As usual? -As usual, my love.

[trooper1023]

Someone asked "Why do some British people not like Donald Trump?"

Nate White, an articulate and witty writer from England, wrote this magnificent response:

"A few things spring to mind.

Trump lacks certain qualities which the British traditionally esteem.

For instance, he has no class, no charm, no coolness, no credibility, no compassion, no wit, no warmth, no wisdom, no subtlety, no sensitivity, no self-awareness, no humility, no honour and no grace - all qualities, funnily enough, with which his predecessor Mr. Obama was generously blessed.

So for us, the stark contrast does rather throw Trump’s limitations into embarrassingly sharp relief.

Plus, we like a laugh. And while Trump may be laughable, he has never once said anything wry, witty or even faintly amusing - not once, ever.

I don’t say that rhetorically, I mean it quite literally: not once, not ever. And that fact is particularly disturbing to the British sensibility - for us, to lack humour is almost inhuman.

But with Trump, it’s a fact. He doesn’t even seem to understand what a joke is - his idea of a joke is a crass comment, an illiterate insult, a casual act of cruelty.

Trump is a troll. And like all trolls, he is never funny and he never laughs; he only crows or jeers.

And scarily, he doesn’t just talk in crude, witless insults - he actually thinks in them. His mind is a simple bot-like algorithm of petty prejudices and knee-jerk nastiness.

There is never any under-layer of irony, complexity, nuance or depth. It’s all surface.

Some Americans might see this as refreshingly upfront.

Well, we don’t. We see it as having no inner world, no soul.

And in Britain we traditionally side with David, not Goliath. All our heroes are plucky underdogs: Robin Hood, Dick Whittington, Oliver Twist.

Trump is neither plucky, nor an underdog. He is the exact opposite of that.

He’s not even a spoiled rich-boy, or a greedy fat-cat.

He’s more a fat white slug. A Jabba the Hutt of privilege.

And worse, he is that most unforgivable of all things to the British: a bully.

That is, except when he is among bullies; then he suddenly transforms into a snivelling sidekick instead.

There are unspoken rules to this stuff - the Queensberry rules of basic decency - and he breaks them all. He punches downwards - which a gentleman should, would, could never do - and every blow he aims is below the belt. He particularly likes to kick the vulnerable or voiceless - and he kicks them when they are down.

So the fact that a significant minority - perhaps a third - of Americans look at what he does, listen to what he says, and then think 'Yeah, he seems like my kind of guy’ is a matter of some confusion and no little distress to British people, given that:

* Americans are supposed to be nicer than us, and mostly are.

* You don't need a particularly keen eye for detail to spot a few flaws in the man.

This last point is what especially confuses and dismays British people, and many other people too; his faults seem pretty bloody hard to miss.

After all, it’s impossible to read a single tweet, or hear him speak a sentence or two, without staring deep into the abyss. He turns being artless into an art form; he is a Picasso of pettiness; a Shakespeare of shit. His faults are fractal: even his flaws have flaws, and so on ad infinitum.

God knows there have always been stupid people in the world, and plenty of nasty people too. But rarely has stupidity been so nasty, or nastiness so stupid.

He makes Nixon look trustworthy and George W look smart.

In fact, if Frankenstein decided to make a monster assembled entirely from human flaws - he would make a Trump.

And a remorseful Doctor Frankenstein would clutch out big clumpfuls of hair and scream in anguish:

'My God… what… have… I… created?

If being a twat was a TV show, Trump would be the boxed set."

[savage-daughter-of-nikitie]

Someone asked "Why do some British people not like Donald Trump?"

Nate White, an articulate and witty writer from England, wrote this magnificent response:

"A few things spring to mind.

Trump lacks certain qualities which the British traditionally esteem.

For instance, he has no class, no charm, no coolness, no credibility, no compassion, no wit, no warmth, no wisdom, no subtlety, no sensitivity, no self-awareness, no humility, no honour and no grace - all qualities, funnily enough, with which his predecessor Mr. Obama was generously blessed.

So for us, the stark contrast does rather throw Trump’s limitations into embarrassingly sharp relief.

Plus, we like a laugh. And while Trump may be laughable, he has never once said anything wry, witty or even faintly amusing - not once, ever.

I don’t say that rhetorically, I mean it quite literally: not once, not ever. And that fact is particularly disturbing to the British sensibility - for us, to lack humour is almost inhuman.

But with Trump, it’s a fact. He doesn’t even seem to understand what a joke is - his idea of a joke is a crass comment, an illiterate insult, a casual act of cruelty.

Trump is a troll. And like all trolls, he is never funny and he never laughs; he only crows or jeers.

And scarily, he doesn’t just talk in crude, witless insults - he actually thinks in them. His mind is a simple bot-like algorithm of petty prejudices and knee-jerk nastiness.

There is never any under-layer of irony, complexity, nuance or depth. It’s all surface.

Some Americans might see this as refreshingly upfront.

Well, we don’t. We see it as having no inner world, no soul.

And in Britain we traditionally side with David, not Goliath. All our heroes are plucky underdogs: Robin Hood, Dick Whittington, Oliver Twist.

Trump is neither plucky, nor an underdog. He is the exact opposite of that.

He’s not even a spoiled rich-boy, or a greedy fat-cat.

He’s more a fat white slug. A Jabba the Hutt of privilege.

And worse, he is that most unforgivable of all things to the British: a bully.

That is, except when he is among bullies; then he suddenly transforms into a snivelling sidekick instead.

There are unspoken rules to this stuff - the Queensberry rules of basic decency - and he breaks them all. He punches downwards - which a gentleman should, would, could never do - and every blow he aims is below the belt. He particularly likes to kick the vulnerable or voiceless - and he kicks them when they are down.

So the fact that a significant minority - perhaps a third - of Americans look at what he does, listen to what he says, and then think 'Yeah, he seems like my kind of guy’ is a matter of some confusion and no little distress to British people, given that:

* Americans are supposed to be nicer than us, and mostly are.

* You don't need a particularly keen eye for detail to spot a few flaws in the man.

This last point is what especially confuses and dismays British people, and many other people too; his faults seem pretty bloody hard to miss.

After all, it’s impossible to read a single tweet, or hear him speak a sentence or two, without staring deep into the abyss. He turns being artless into an art form; he is a Picasso of pettiness; a Shakespeare of shit. His faults are fractal: even his flaws have flaws, and so on ad infinitum.

God knows there have always been stupid people in the world, and plenty of nasty people too. But rarely has stupidity been so nasty, or nastiness so stupid.

He makes Nixon look trustworthy and George W look smart.

In fact, if Frankenstein decided to make a monster assembled entirely from human flaws - he would make a Trump.

And a remorseful Doctor Frankenstein would clutch out big clumpfuls of hair and scream in anguish:

'My God… what… have… I… created?

If being a twat was a TV show, Trump would be the boxed set."

Thanks Occupy Democrats

[gawsby]

Why do British people not like Donald Trump?

Someone asked "Why do British people not like Donald Trump?"

Nate White, an articulate and witty writer from England, wrote this magnificent response:

"A few things spring to mind.

Trump lacks certain qualities which the British traditionally esteem.

For instance, he has no class, no charm, no coolness, no credibility, no compassion, no wit, no warmth, no wisdom, no subtlety, no sensitivity, no self-awareness, no humility, no honour and no grace - all qualities, funnily enough, with which his predecessor Mr Obama was generously blessed.

So for us, the stark contrast does rather throw Trump’s limitations into embarrassingly sharp relief.

Plus, we like a laugh. And while Trump may be laughable, he has never once said anything wry, witty or even faintly amusing - not once, ever.

I don’t say that rhetorically, I mean it quite literally: not once, not ever. And that fact is particularly disturbing to the British sensibility - for us, to lack humour is almost inhuman.

But with Trump, it’s a fact. He doesn’t even seem to understand what a joke is - his idea of a joke is a crass comment, an illiterate insult, a casual act of cruelty.

Trump is a troll. And like all trolls, he is never funny and he never laughs; he only crows or jeers.

And scarily, he doesn’t just talk in crude, witless insults - he actually thinks in them. His mind is a simple bot-like algorithm of petty prejudices and knee-jerk nastiness.

There is never any under-layer of irony, complexity, nuance or depth. It’s all surface.

Some Americans might see this as refreshingly upfront.

Well, we don’t. We see it as having no inner world, no soul.

And in Britain we traditionally side with David, not Goliath. All our heroes are plucky underdogs: Robin Hood, Dick Whittington, Oliver Twist.

Trump is neither plucky, nor an underdog. He is the exact opposite of that.

He’s not even a spoiled rich-boy, or a greedy fat-cat.

He’s more a fat white slug. A Jabba the Hutt of privilege.

And worse, he is that most unforgivable of all things to the British: a bully.

That is, except when he is among bullies; then he suddenly transforms into a snivelling sidekick instead.

There are unspoken rules to this stuff - the Queensberry rules of basic decency - and he breaks them all. He punches downwards - which a gentleman should, would, could never do - and every blow he aims is below the belt. He particularly likes to kick the vulnerable or voiceless - and he kicks them when they are down.

So the fact that a significant minority - perhaps a third - of Americans look at what he does, listen to what he says, and then think 'Yeah, he seems like my kind of guy’ is a matter of some confusion and no little distress to British people, given that:

* Americans are supposed to be nicer than us, and mostly are.

* You don't need a particularly keen eye for detail to spot a few flaws in the man.

This last point is what especially confuses and dismays British people, and many other people too; his faults seem pretty bloody hard to miss.

After all, it’s impossible to read a single tweet, or hear him speak a sentence or two, without staring deep into the abyss. He turns being artless into an art form; he is a Picasso of pettiness; a Shakespeare of shit. His faults are fractal: even his flaws have flaws, and so on ad infinitum.

God knows there have always been stupid people in the world, and plenty of nasty people too. But rarely has stupidity been so nasty, or nastiness so stupid.

He makes Nixon look trustworthy and George W look smart.

In fact, if Frankenstein decided to make a monster assembled entirely from human flaws - he would make a Trump.

And a remorseful Doctor Frankenstein would clutch out big clumpfuls of hair and scream in anguish:

'My God… what… have… I… created?

If being a twat was a TV show, Trump would be the boxed set."

[reddanceragain]

Someone asked "Why do some British people not like Donald Trump?"

Someone asked "Why do some British people not like Donald Trump?"

Nate White, an articulate and witty writer from England, wrote this magnificent response:

"A few things spring to mind.

Trump lacks certain qualities which the British traditionally esteem.

For instance, he has no class, no charm, no coolness, no credibility, no compassion, no wit, no warmth, no wisdom, no subtlety, no sensitivity, no self-awareness, no humility, no honour and no grace - all qualities, funnily enough, with which his predecessor Mr. Obama was generously blessed.

So for us, the stark contrast does rather throw Trump’s limitations into embarrassingly sharp relief.

Plus, we like a laugh. And while Trump may be laughable, he has never once said anything wry, witty or even faintly amusing - not once, ever.

I don’t say that rhetorically, I mean it quite literally: not once, not ever. And that fact is particularly disturbing to the British sensibility - for us, to lack humour is almost inhuman.

But with Trump, it’s a fact. He doesn’t even seem to understand what a joke is - his idea of a joke is a crass comment, an illiterate insult, a casual act of cruelty.

Trump is a troll. And like all trolls, he is never funny and he never laughs; he only crows or jeers.

And scarily, he doesn’t just talk in crude, witless insults - he actually thinks in them. His mind is a simple bot-like algorithm of petty prejudices and knee-jerk nastiness.

There is never any under-layer of irony, complexity, nuance or depth. It’s all surface.

Some Americans might see this as refreshingly upfront.

Well, we don’t. We see it as having no inner world, no soul.

And in Britain we traditionally side with David, not Goliath. All our heroes are plucky underdogs: Robin Hood, Dick Whittington, Oliver Twist.

Trump is neither plucky, nor an underdog. He is the exact opposite of that.

He’s not even a spoiled rich-boy, or a greedy fat-cat.

He’s more a fat white slug. A Jabba the Hutt of privilege.

And worse, he is that most unforgivable of all things to the British: a bully.

That is, except when he is among bullies; then he suddenly transforms into a snivelling sidekick instead.

There are unspoken rules to this stuff - the Queensberry rules of basic decency - and he breaks them all. He punches downwards - which a gentleman should, would, could never do - and every blow he aims is below the belt. He particularly likes to kick the vulnerable or voiceless - and he kicks them when they are down.

So the fact that a significant minority - perhaps a third - of Americans look at what he does, listen to what he says, and then think 'Yeah, he seems like my kind of guy’ is a matter of some confusion and no little distress to British people, given that:

* Americans are supposed to be nicer than us, and mostly are.

* You don't need a particularly keen eye for detail to spot a few flaws in the man.

This last point is what especially confuses and dismays British people, and many other people too; his faults seem pretty bloody hard to miss.

After all, it’s impossible to read a single tweet, or hear him speak a sentence or two, without staring deep into the abyss. He turns being artless into an art form; he is a Picasso of pettiness; a Shakespeare of shit. His faults are fractal: even his flaws have flaws, and so on ad infinitum.

God knows there have always been stupid people in the world, and plenty of nasty people too. But rarely has stupidity been so nasty, or nastiness so stupid.

He makes Nixon look trustworthy and George W look smart.

In fact, if Frankenstein decided to make a monster assembled entirely from human flaws - he would make a Trump.

And a remorseful Doctor Frankenstein would clutch out big clumpfuls of hair and scream in anguish:

'My God… what… have… I… created?

If being a twat was a TV show, Trump would be the boxed set."

[encounterthepast]

From: The Bitchy Pundit

Someone asked "Why do some British people not like Donald Trump?"

Nate White, an articulate and witty writer from England, wrote this magnificent response:

"A few things spring to mind.

Trump lacks certain qualities which the British traditionally esteem.

For instance, he has no class, no charm, no coolness, no credibility, no compassion, no wit, no warmth, no wisdom, no subtlety, no sensitivity, no self-awareness, no humility, no honour and no grace - all qualities, funnily enough, with which his predecessor Mr. Obama was generously blessed.

So for us, the stark contrast does rather throw Trump’s limitations into embarrassingly sharp relief.

Plus, we like a laugh. And while Trump may be laughable, he has never once said anything wry, witty or even faintly amusing - not once, ever.

I don’t say that rhetorically, I mean it quite literally: not once, not ever. And that fact is particularly disturbing to the British sensibility - for us, to lack humour is almost inhuman.

But with Trump, it’s a fact. He doesn’t even seem to understand what a joke is - his idea of a joke is a crass comment, an illiterate insult, a casual act of cruelty.

Trump is a troll. And like all trolls, he is never funny and he never laughs; he only crows or jeers.

And scarily, he doesn’t just talk in crude, witless insults - he actually thinks in them. His mind is a simple bot-like algorithm of petty prejudices and knee-jerk nastiness.

There is never any under-layer of irony, complexity, nuance or depth. It’s all surface.

Some Americans might see this as refreshingly upfront.

Well, we don’t. We see it as having no inner world, no soul.

And in Britain we traditionally side with David, not Goliath. All our heroes are plucky underdogs: Robin Hood, Dick Whittington, Oliver Twist.

Trump is neither plucky, nor an underdog. He is the exact opposite of that.

He’s not even a spoiled rich-boy, or a greedy fat-cat.

He’s more a fat white slug. A Jabba the Hutt of privilege.

And worse, he is that most unforgivable of all things to the British: a bully.

That is, except when he is among bullies; then he suddenly transforms into a snivelling sidekick instead.

There are unspoken rules to this stuff - the Queensberry rules of basic decency - and he breaks them all. He punches downwards - which a gentleman should, would, could never do - and every blow he aims is below the belt. He particularly likes to kick the vulnerable or voiceless - and he kicks them when they are down.

So the fact that a significant minority - perhaps a third - of Americans look at what he does, listen to what he says, and then think 'Yeah, he seems like my kind of guy’ is a matter of some confusion and no little distress to British people, given that:

* Americans are supposed to be nicer than us, and mostly are.

* You don't need a particularly keen eye for detail to spot a few flaws in the man.

This last point is what especially confuses and dismays British people, and many other people too; his faults seem pretty bloody hard to miss.

After all, it’s impossible to read a single tweet, or hear him speak a sentence or two, without staring deep into the abyss. He turns being artless into an art form; he is a Picasso of pettiness; a Shakespeare of shit. His faults are fractal: even his flaws have flaws, and so on ad infinitum.

God knows there have always been stupid people in the world, and plenty of nasty people too. But rarely has stupidity been so nasty, or nastiness so stupid.

He makes Nixon look trustworthy and George W look smart.

In fact, if Frankenstein decided to make a monster assembled entirely from human flaws - he would make a Trump.

And a remorseful Doctor Frankenstein would clutch out big clumpfuls of hair and scream in anguish:

'My God… what… have… I… created?

If being a twat was a TV show, Trump would be the boxed set."

[thewildlorelei]

Love is Sick and Love is Blind (Mob AU)

pairing: wally darling/original female character(Millie Morning)

rating: M

pretty obvious but this is fan content of welcome home

author's note:  Millie is my Welcome Home oc! Millie is a bunny puppet so there will be mention of things like her ears and tail and bunny feet. Just didn’t want people going in and being confused about the bunny talk. I will add reference art for what Millie looks like in this au once I get around to actually designing it lol. The design and concept for Mob Boss Wally comes from the Welcome Home Mob AU from clownsuu which is also linked. I highly recommend you check out their stuff if you haven’t already, it’s amazing. Please also note that this is more inspired by their au so I will be adding some of my own interpritation of things and won’t be 100% accurate to their canon lore for the au. Ok I think that’s everything for now, sorry this is so long lol Also the inspiration for the garden comes from "The boss's garden" on AO3 by Anonymous.

ao3 link, check here for tags related to rating

Mob Boss Wally Darling

Chapter 1 - Somewhere Only You Know

Today just had to be the worst day of Millie’s life. Why else would she be hiding away in the corner of a magnificent garden crying. She was in the most beautiful garden she had ever seen and she was sitting there, not enjoying any of it.

To be honest she shouldn’t even be here. She didn’t know who owned this garden. It was in the middle of town and didn’t seem to be a public place so she was technically trespassing. It wasn’t her fault though. She just needed a place to hide for a bit, just until she calmed down. There wasn’t anyone else here that she could see so she figured she was relatively safe.

Millie had only been living in the city for a couple of months now but things were already going badly. She just didn’t know what to do anymore, and so here she was crying. Because crying was what she was good at, it was like she was born to cry. She did it all the time, over every little thing. Most people around her thought it was annoying, that she was just being dramatic and a big cry baby. It really bothered her that they thought that, as if she could control it.

She wiped at her eyes under where they were hidden by her bangs, trying to stem the flow. It wasn’t helping. She had created a wet spot on her skirt where she had been leaning with her head on her knees. She was trying to think about her options, what she could do about her problems that were piling up. That was until a voice startled her from her thoughts.

“Hello there, neighbor.”

Millie gasped. Her ears shot straight up as she quickly lifted her head from her knees. There was a man standing beside the fence leading to her hiding spot. He was short, about the same height as her, his hair was blue and curly and pulled up into a messy roll on top. Curls fell loose beside his ears and down between his eyes. He was dressed nicely with striped pants, a white button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up, suspenders, and a red ascot. A too large jacket was draped around his shoulders and he had his hands in his pockets. But the thing that was most notable about him was the scar over his right eye.

The eye was closed, she wondered if that meant it was gone. His other eye was trained on her, half lidded with an almost lazy look. He was smiling, so at least it didn’t seem like he was mad to find her here.

“I don’t mean to interrupt but I heard you crying.”

“Oh! I’m so sorry, is this your garden? I didn’t mean to intrude, I didn't think anyone was here.” She started to get up, wiping at her eyes again. “It is, but that’s alright, I usually come here to be alone, but it seems like you needed some alone time too.” He said with a laid back smile on his face. She couldn’t help but blush in embarrassment at getting caught, happy her face was so hidden behind her hair.

“I’m really sorry, I’ll just go.” Millie started to move from the corner she was in.

“You can’t leave yet, you’ve made me so curious why a beautiful girl like you is crying by herself in my garden.” He gave her a charming smile. “Please, walk with me. I’ll show you around the garden and you can tell me about it.” He tilted his head to gesture that she should come over to him. He had an intimidating air that she couldn’t quite place. It felt like he must be in charge of something, he had a commanding presence. She really didn’t want to upset him but she also knew not to trust strange men. He must be rich and powerful, she thought, for him to own such a large beautiful garden in the middle of the city.

He must have sensed her hesitation. “I promise I’m a good listener.” That was it, she couldn’t just walk away when he was being so nice about it. And honestly? She really could use someone to talk to, and she didn’t have anyone else at the moment. She smiled. “Alright. I would love to see the garden after all. I used to do some gardening myself, this place is magnificent.”

He led them over to a brick pathway that wound its way through the whole garden. He slowly walked beside her with even relaxed steps, pointing out a couple of things here and there that he liked most. About halfway through he slowed his pace. “So tell me, what brought you to my garden?”

She looked away. “Oh it all feels so silly now.”

“I’d like to hear about it anyway.” There was a slight tone in his voice that made her feel like this was more of a demand than a request. “Well, I moved to this city only a couple months ago. I moved in with my grandparents cause they are the only family I have left and I had nowhere else to go after my mom died. I didn’t have enough money to support myself at the time and they were nice enough to let me stay.” She started to fidget with her hands again. “But..they have changed since I was little. They have very strong expectations for people and have rigid ideas on what a person should be and do with their life. I ended up lying to them about what I was doing for work because I knew they wouldn’t like it.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m a bartender. I really enjoy it actually, despite the drawbacks.” He nodded in understanding. “But this morning they found out what I had been doing. They were so mad, more than I thought they would be. They said what I was doing was sinful and that if I was going to do the devil's work that I wasn’t allowed to live there anymore. Not only that, they told me that they were disowning me, that I wasn’t their granddaughter anymore.” Her voice was tight, trying to swallow the tears that were forming again.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Family should be there for each other no matter what. And disowning family? Just deciding you don’t want to be family anymore? It doesn’t make sense. Family is for life.” There was something intense in the way he talked about it. “You must be very close to your family.” Millie prompted. “Oh yes, my family is everything to me.” She smiled. “That sounds so nice.” There was longing in her voice. They continued walking in silence for a moment.

“You know, that doesn’t actually explain how you ended up here in the garden.” “Oh yeah. Well, it’s sort of related. Like I said, I work at a bar nearby and a couple of days ago there were these two guys in there giving me a hard time. I work alone most of the time, except for the bouncer of course. They were so drunk and just wouldn’t leave me alone and I finally had to kick them out. They were pretty upset about it. They kept yelling and threatening to send the mob after me for treating them like that. It did freak me out a little.”

“The mob, huh?” He said, a hint of mirth in his voice. “What did these guys look like?” She described them to him and he hummed. “Sounds about right. I don’t think you’ll have to worry about them. Either they were lying about being in with the mob or they are so low level that no one will care if they got kicked out of some bar.” “Oh really? That’s honestly such a relief. I’m not trying to get on someone’s bad side right after I just got to this town.” Millie stopped for a moment to admire a bush of incredible multi-colored hydrangeas.

“Anyway, today I was taking a walk trying to clear my head and I just happened to see those men ahead on the street coming towards me. I was so upset from getting kicked out earlier and I really didn’t want to chance anything happening with them so I came down the alley over there.” She pointed to the fence where you could see a gap in the buildings on the other side. “I think they saw me cause they started following me down the alley. So I jumped the fence and ended up here.”

“You…jumped the fence? There’s razor wire at the top, how did you manage…?” She stuck out a foot, showing off her bare rabbit feet. “I’m really good at jumping high.” She laughed and continued her story. “Luckily it doesn’t seem like they kept following me. I was just so overwhelmed that I sat down and cried.” She turned her face away from him, feeling a little ashamed. “I cry really easy, people tend to call me a crybaby.” She laughed at herself a little.

“There’s no shame in crying, neighbor. All of that sounds like you are justified. I think I'd even shed some tears if I lost my family.” She looked back to him, giving him an appreciative smile. “So that’s it, that’s my sad story.”

“Hmm.” He thought for a moment. “What I’m hearing is that you need a new place to stay.” Her head fell forward slightly. “Yeah, I guess I do. I was planning on staying at a motel or something till I can find a new place.” She knew she shouldn’t be offering up so much information about herself to him, he was still just a stranger, but there was something about him that made her want to tell him everything.

“No, we can’t have that, neighbor.” He stopped beside a bush of beautiful shasta daisies, leaning down to pick one. He twirled the stem between his fingers. She noticed he had a silver ring on every finger on both hands.

“I know an apartment building nearby, it’s very nice, recently built. Rent’s high but I’ll give them a call and tell them I know someone looking for a place and ask them to lower rent to match what you can afford. How does that sound?” Millie was silent for a moment, shocked by the offer. “Really? That’s…that’s amazing…and..way too generous of you. We’ve only just met and you’d do that for me?”

He laughed, it was an awkward stuttered laugh, but it felt genuine. “Of course. I couldn’t very well just let you leave here knowing you had nowhere to go. Here…” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a business card. “This is the place. Give them a call later and they’ll get you sorted out.” She took the card and just stared at it like it was too good to be true. “Wow, how can I ever thank you for helping me like this?” He brought his hand to his chin as if he were considering it. “I’d like you to stay in touch, and go out to dinner with me sometime.” Her face felt hot. “Well I suppose that’s the least I can do to repay you for helping me like this.” “Deal?” He reached out as if to shake on it. She took his hand and laughed, shaking it. “Deal.”

He turned to keep walking along the path. “There is only a little more to see, then I’ll show you the door so you can leave without hopping over the fence.” She winced. “Sorry again about that.” She could feel him looking at her so she tried to pretend not to notice.

“What do you know about the local mob?” He asked suddenly. “It’s just that you mentioned those men and I’ve been wondering how much you know since you’re so new in town.”

“Hmmm, I know some stuff. I hear things in passing working at the bar. As far as I know there are two main families in this town. The Flowers?” He nodded stiffly. “And the other is the Home family I think?” “Yeah that’s right.” He was looking at her again. She almost felt like he was testing her. So she tried to offer more. “I really don’t know much beyond that. Oh! I do know the names of the heads of each family. There’s Aster Flowers, for the Flowers family of course, and the other is Wally Darling if I remember right. The guys at the bar talking about it said he was pretty scary. I’d really hate to get on his bad side, so I hope you’re right that he wouldn’t come after me.”

He laughed again, lighting touching his fingertips to his forehead. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about.” He raised his hand, gently placing the daisy in her hair behind her ear. She felt butterflies fluttering in her stomach. There was just something so charming about him. He felt dangerous in a way but she couldn’t help but feel drawn in. They finally reached a gate that led out back to the street.

“Let me ask one last favor, let's say as ‘payment’ for entering my garden.” She laughed awkwardly again. “My sob story wasn’t enough?” “Not quite.” He sounded serious. “Um, sure.” That made her nervous, what if it was something she didn’t want to say or do?

“Let me see your eyes.”

“My eyes?” She asked. Well that was certainly much better than anything else that had flashed through her mind. “Yes.” He said, staring at her intently. She looked away for a moment. “Alright, I suppose.” She didn’t really mind, there was nothing to hide, well except for her face in general, but that was more of a comfort thing than an insecure thing. She reached up and pushed her bangs out of the way of her eyes. “It’s not like they're anything special.” She laughed to herself. He was silent for a moment. Actually maybe she was starting to feel insecure.

“Beautiful.”

Her eyes darted to his, he was so focused on her it made the heat rise in her cheeks again but this time she couldn’t hide it. His pupil dilated and his smile grew. After a moment he lightly shook his head. “Sorry for staring, but you have lovely eyes. Also that heart on your cheek is a surprise.”

She dropped her bangs, feeling safe again from having her emotions on such obvious display. “Oh yeah, I’ve always had that, kids used to tease me about it.” Ske mentally kicked herself a little, why had she said that. She thought that she better get out of there soon, this was all very intense and she felt like she needed time to breathe and think about all of this. He was staring again despite his apology for doing so, it gave her goosbumps. She thought she better thank him again and get going.

“Thank you again, mister…” She stopped, eyes going wide. “Oh! Where are my manners! You’ve been so kind and I haven’t even introduced myself.” She stuck out her hand. “I’m Millie Morning!” The smile that appeared on his face could have made her melt. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Millie.” He took her hand in his.

“I’m Wally, Wally Darling.”

[its-deputy-caleb]

Reaction from the lords (and miranda if you want) when they found out ​that s/o has the power of fire. but not a normal one but the hoarse blue on

Ahh this was super cute to write, firstly i’m sorry that i didn’t do miranda i have just been having a really rough patch and her character is hard to write for me personally so i apologise but i love these requests with a s/o that has some kind of powers! i hope everyone can enjoy <3

Alcina Dimitrescu

When Alcina discovered you have the gift of fire, she was not amused to find you burnt her fine quality curtains. Not that any of it was your fault, really you just waved your hand at Bela at the other end of the hall and the window went up in flames.

Once you got a hang of your powers though, it became a delight around the castle. The oil lamps in rooms were replaced by a warm blue glow which matched beautifully with the golden inlay of the walls.

One thing that you’d noticed about Alcina that being somewhat of a vampire, her skin was always very cold no matter how warm the room was and so you often found yourself with your hands on her face. She always leaned into your touch as your thumbs brushed her cheeks.

You let warmth leave your palm, a soft heat radiating from them as you gently held her face. Alcina loved your power because in a cheesy and cliche kind of way, you made her heart melt. She’d never been one for romantics but you had a certain affect on her.

You didn’t always use your powers to redecorate the Castle however, there were certainly times when it came in handy to protect you and your family. Many times you’d flame down the creatures that lingered in the cellars if they got too close to Alcina’s daughters and you never hesitated to leave a ring of fire around the Castle to fend off any unwanted guests.

They were your family after all, and you’d do everything in your power to protect the ones you love.

Donna Beneviento

Donna is so captured by your powers and your heart always skips a beat when she asks you to show her, watching as the blue flame is reflected in her beautiful doe eyes. Her face lights always lights up in the brightest smile.

An afternoon favourite of yours is to sit on the couch with Donna wrapped in your arms, her head resting on your chest as your fingers run gently through her hair. Often at times Donna will fall asleep (which you’ll never admit is the cutest thing seeing her sleep) but the house is always freezing so high in the mountains.

With a flick of your wrist, the fireplace springs to life and a soft blue colour fills the room. Naturally you could’ve used a blanket but you didn’t want to move and wake her and you also took every opportunity to use your powers.

You and Donna love to play hide and seek with Angie around the Estate, but the mischievous Angie insists that the lights get turned off as you search for her. With one hand in Donna’s, the other rests open palmed in front of you, acting as a lantern while you run down dark corridors. That and it also acted as a heat source in some of the more questionable and damp rooms.

Early mornings are often spent outside on the porch to watch the sunrise bounce off the waterfall, it was quite a spectacular view. One morning Donna had a mug of tea in her hand, long gone cold since it snowed almost all year round.

You bring your hands to the mug and warm it with your palms, making sure Donna can keep her own hands warm. Soon the tea is steaming again and she takes a tentative sip, humming in delight at the sweet taste. She tucks her head under yours as you bring her in close before returning your gaze to the waterfall.

Salvatore Moreau

At first Salvatore was almost afraid of your power, seeing that he was much more comfortable in an aquatic environment but he slowly learnt that you’d never hurt him with your power.

You loved taking trips around the reservoir together, camping out under the stars as you roast all sorts of sweets that you bought from the Duke. You’d both share marshmallows and chocolates and other goodies as you learnt Sal had a sweet tooth to counteract his love of savoury cheeses.

On really cold mornings, you both wake up early to go and find the freshly fallen snow. You use your fire power to melt it, leaving large puddles of water that he could swim in. One thing you noticed was the way your heart fluttered when he smiled at the water you could create.

Salvatore learnt that he was particularly fond of warm water and so the two of you found a sanctuary up above the reservoir that held a deep pool of water.

You knelt down and placed your palm on the rocks and let them heat slowly, a warm steam entering the atmosphere. The water was by no means hot but just warm enough to be enjoyable in these harsh winters. Sal absolutely loved the spring you made and although you tended to avoid water for obvious reasons, you let your legs dangle in the warm water while he either swarm around or had his head rested on your knee.

Karl Heisenberg

The minute Karl sees fire leave your palm his eyes light up like a kid on Christmas. He couldn’t be more excited to have someone like him, and it brought you two closer together.

Having the power of fire meant that you jumped straight in to helping around the factory with him. The two of you would weld metal together for hours. First you’d melt it all down and then he’d weld it all back to form magnificent weapons of which you’d both plan to use on Miranda.

Sometimes if he needed to weld two pieces together you’d simply point your index finger with a small searing hot blue flame while he held them together. You never missed the way he smiled at the end of it like he was the luckiest man alive.

You both loved going out and causing mischief all over the village. The two of you would spend hours searching through caves and hidden undiscovered pockets that had all the monsters that you could wreak havoc on. You’d often dare each other on how many lycans and Samcă you could kill. Naturally a Vârcolac was worth extra points and the winner got a weeks worth of bragging rights and a reward from the Duke all paid for by the loser.

Your gift was extremely powerful and Karl admired you for that immensely, knowing that you’re just as powerful as him, if not more. Not only that but he’s never felt loved than when you promised that you’d be by his side when he took Miranda down and that you’d protect him during the battle.

[bcysdontcry]

"Maybe to some, sure, but architecture is its own beast to respect... I mean, to create and build something from essentially nothing is magnificent, deserves to be talked about as well." For all of his faults, Silas is nothing if not enthusiastic to engage in conversations such as this, always curious to learn about another person's career and path in life; if only to maintain the false mystique and glamor around his own.  "You'll have to let me pick your brain on that industry when I'm a bit more sober and not in short-shorts, yeah? Besides, I think this headband is squeezing the brain cells right outta me," he says with a joking tone, though his hand still instinctively reaches up to make an adjustment on the aforementioned headband.

He feigns offense before his own grin mirrors Mars', unable to stop the chuckle from escaping past his lips.  "I haven't had a Shirley Temple since I was twelve, love.  I don't need a breather." The term of endearment is echoed back to the other man, confidence unbridled but he's careful to not be overly obnoxious about it.  His bombastic ego shield is reserved for when it's necessary, and he's aware that he doesn't presently need it.

It's almost instantaneous that Silas links arms with Mars when the offer is presented to him, feeling himself grow more excited than when he'd first arrived to the nightclub.  Even without the flirting, this is why he enjoys events and parties, to drink and socialize.  "Hope you're serious about the chaps next year.  It'll incentivize me to show up to one of these things again."

He laughs - at least Silas seems to know who he's dressed as, even if he's more focused on certain parts of it. That's fine with Mars. He's spent a lot of time just... ignoring this side of him.

"Sounds like you're plenty important." Mars picks up his drink, swirls it and watches the ice shift in it before he meets the other's gaze. "Depressing shit's important, too. Sounds like you talk about shit that needs to be talked about." He grins, impressed. While Mars likes his work, and certainly sees the worth in it, he's already wondered about retirement, and focusing more on the Brotherhood. Something he's just as passionate about, if not moreso.

Watching the other lean closer only emboldens Mars too. He likes this man's energy. An unbridled confidence that's barely contained. Almost vain. Mars sets his drink on the table again. "Three? Well shit, love, maybe I should buy you a Shirley Temple instead while you take a breather." A shit-eating grin, before he downs his whiskey. He's been nursing the first drink for a bit too long anyways. "Chaps an' alcohol it is." A strong arm is offered in his emerald green 'uniform' for Silas to take, assuming they'll walk over together.

[baepsaesbae]

Masked Windfall

Pairing— Park Jimin x reader x Jeon Jungkook

Genre— SMUT, strangers to lovers au

Warnings— Switch!Jimin, Dom!Jungkook, Switch!reader, threesome, explicit unprotected and somewhat rough sex (stay safe my friends), double penetration (but like a bj and in your business at the same time? I’m bad with terminology I’m sorry), brief handjob, fingering, multiple orgasms, a booty slap, praise kink, slight derogatory kink, brief guy on guy action, nipple play, hair pulling, lots of kissing, teasing, swearing, PHEW I think that’s all? Please let me know if I forgot something

Word Count— 6k                                                                                         

Win(d)fôl: a piece of unexpected good fortune || After a bad breakup, you’ve given up on the prospect of a relationship, and on romance in general. Things take a turn once you get dragged to a mysterious party an encounter an alluring stranger. 

A/N— Happy 2021~ I hope you guys enjoy this sinful fic! This was the first fic I ever wrote a threesome scene for and I was quite happy with how it turned out. Reviews and reblogs are greatly appreciated <3

Ever since your breakup, it was as if love was in the air for everyone but you. Seeing happy couples everywhere served as a constant reminder of your bitter split with your longtime boyfriend. Your jerk ex-boyfriend dumped you right before the holiday season, even after you had planned to spend Christmas and New Years’ with him. Left dejected and inconsolable, you gave up on the idea of romance.

“You gotta stop moping around,” your friend, Chungha, tried to cheer you up.

Chungha was single too, but by choice. Boys (and girls) were constantly flinging themselves at her. She didn’t care for a relationship at this time, and would rather opt for meaningless one night stands.

“Come with me tonight!” she excitedly shoved a flyer in your face.

“Love is Out, Lust is In! An exciting one night event dedicated to adventurous singles who just want to have fun…” you read the flyer aloud, “Yeah, I don’t know about that.”

“Girl, you gotta stop feeling sorry for yourself! It’s not your fault that that idiot dumped you. To be honest, I always thought you could do so much better,” Chungha rubbed your back, “I’m not gonna force you to meet anyone new, but one night out can’t hurt. You might even have a serendipitous encounter!”

“Fine, I’ll go. But just to watch over you, I don’t want some creep to follow you around all night,” you caved in.

“I love my little knight in shining armor! This’ll be so fun,” she excitedly clung onto your arm, “I’ll pick you up tonight. Wear something sexy! I think the motif is black? Something appropriate for an anti-lovey dovey stuff.”

It was nearly time for Chungha to pick you up. You concluded that dressing up for the first time in ages was the right move. Maybe it was about damn time to move on from your past.

“Ohhh girl you look amazing!” Chungha praised as you stepped outside, “There’s no way you WON’T be getting dicked down tonight.”

“Oh hush, before I change my mind. I haven’t worn anything this revealing in forever,” you tried to hide your embarrassment.

You were wearing a black mesh top that revealed your bra (the one that makes your boobs look the best of course) paired with a flattering skirt. You felt sexy, but you didn’t have the confidence that you used to. Chungha also looked amazing, but that was a given.

“Where did you learn about this event?” you asked as she drove.

“My friends in the cabaret club told me about it,” she answered.

“You have friends who work in a cabaret club? That’s cool,” you mused as you gazed out the window.

“Not exactly. It’s just called that; it’s really just a group of girls who like to brunch on the weekends. The place we’re going to is known for being a bit secretive,” she smiled.

“What does that mean?” you start to get anxious.

“You’ll see!” she said gleefully.

The venue looked more like some millionaire’s mansion. The property was stowed away at the end of a sketchy road that was more akin to a beaten up dirt path. However, you saw that the lot in front of the house was littered with fancy cars; from G Wagons to Bugattis. The guests emerging from the vehicles all looked like celebrities.

“Where the hell are we?” you asked Chungha.

“Not quite sure, but I can’t wait to find out,” she was also awestruck.

Upon arrival, a gentleman stationed at the entrance requested for your invitation. Chungha pulled out a fancy envelope and casually handed it to him. It looked far more formal than the flyer she showed you earlier.

“Is this your plus one?” he gruffly asked.

“Yep,” Chungha linked her arm in yours.

“Very well. Here are your masks. Enjoy your stay,” he responded curtly.

“Masks? Chungha, seriously. Where the hell are we? I was picturing some dingy club based off of the flyer you showed me. Not to mention that I am drastically underdressed,” you admitted as you helped her put on her mask.

Chungha took the sparkly white mask that was adorned with feathers, which was fitting since it made her look even more angelic. Your mask was matte black accented with gold trimmings. It was far more elegant than the outfit you were wearing.

“Okay, I confess. I made the flyer. I knew you’d decline if I told you it was actually a swanky invite only shindig. I’m sorry for lying! I just really wanted to take you out,” she pouted.

Her puppy dog eyes worked on you every time.

“I forgive you. I don’t know if I’d ever get to experience something like this without you anyway,” you pulled her in for a hug.

“Aw yay! Alright, we’re gonna have a bunch of fun tonight! Also, you look hot. Don’t worry about what you look like. Plus, I have a feeling that people aren’t gonna care,” she says as soon as you both enter the foyer.

Your jaw dropped as soon as you saw the most sumptuous house imaginable. The foyer opened the house up to two grand staircases. The baroque decor screamed nothing but lavish expectations for the rest of the house. Chungha led the way into the large room past the staircases. The room was even more magnificent than the entrance, with white marble pillars creating the doorways.

The place was bustling with activity. Once you finished admiring the place, your attention turned to the guests. Some women were wearing seductive gowns, while others were only wearing beautiful (and probably extremely expensive) lingerie. All of the men were wearing suits or tuxedos. With the motley of outfits you observed, you figured what you were wearing really wasn’t that strange.

“Drinks ladies?” a waitress materialized from thin air.

“Yes please! Thanks,” Chungha quickly grabbed two glasses.

Your eyes widened as the waitress walked away. She was wearing a thin white sheet that was completely see through, and she wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

You realized that this must have been their uniform, as the rest of the servers were dressed the same way. Both males and females.

“CHUNGHA!” a shrill voice cut through the air.

“Ah hey! Thank you so much for inviting me!” Chungha greeted the girl who called out to her.

“Of course! I live for these parties! I’ve never seen hotter men anywhere else,” the girl winked, “My uncle wants the guests to know that all of the servers are available. All the rooms upstairs are unlocked, unless they’re being used of course. I hope you ladies get a good catch tonight!” the girl quickly hugged both of you before scampering away.

“The servers are all available…? For what?” you shot a confused look to Chungha.

“I think you can figure that out,” she smiled sheepishly.

“Chungha, did you invite me to a freaking orgy!?” you cried out.

“You said you wanted to watch over me!” she playfully argued, “You’re already here, ___. You might as well try to enjoy yourself.”

“I guess I’ll settle for people watching,” you sighed.

“Oh! I see someone I know, I’ll be right back,” Chungha squeezed your arm before disappearing into the crowd.

After snatching another drink from a scandalously clad waiter, you retreated to an empty corner. You hoped to observe the guests unnoticed and unbothered. After about half an hour, you noticed an odd pattern. People would woo their target, disappear for a bit, and then return to continue the hunt. Their clothing was often disheveled once they resurfaced, but it didn’t really matter when they were bound to be torn off again.

“Bored?” an unfamiliar voice asked.

“I’m thoroughly entertained,” you answered without taking your eyes off of the party.

“I think I could bring you more entertainment,” the man suggested as he gripped your hips.

“Get your hands off of me!” you push him off.

The assailant was an older man, at least 30 years older than you, and he seemed bewildered that you turned him down. His breath reeked of alcohol, and the dilation of his eyes alluded to his other indulgences of the night.

“I was promised that everyone at this party wanted to have some fun,” he angrily grasped your arm.

You cried out in pain. You were about to punch him in the face until someone else beat you to it. The man crumpled to the ground clutching his bloody nose.

“You little shit! I’ll find out who you are and ruin your life!” the man threatened.

“Mind your tone, worm. Or do I need to beat you senseless to remind you of your place?” your savior shot a baleful glare at the pathetic man who now cowered in fear.

“Are you okay?” your rescuer asked in a soft tone after the man was out of sight.

“Much better now, thank you. That guy was crazy. I’m ___,” you raised your hand for a handshake.

“I’m Jimin. Pleasure to meet you,” he delicately kissed your hand.

His intricate silver mask matched his hair. Even with his face half covered, you could tell that he was remarkably handsome. His dark suit made him look professional yet charming. You felt out of place standing beside him.

“Have you found a partner yet?” he asked bluntly.

“I’m not looking for one; I’m just here to take care of my friend. I don’t think I belong here,” you admitted.

“Why not? I know half of your face is hidden, but I’m willing to bet that you’re more gorgeous than half the people here. I like your style, it shows that you don’t really care for the norm,” Jimin gave you a thumbs up.

Even though it was meant as a compliment, it was off putting to know that you really did stick out like a sore thumb.

“Thanks,” you replied softly, “Have you found yours?”

“Nah, I hate big parties like this. Especially this one,” he shrugged.

“Then why are you here?” you figured that he’d have a line of women begging to sleep with him.

“Much like you, I’m watching over a friend. However, I have lost track of him. Where’s your friend?”

“I lost track of her too,” you laughed.

“If you don’t mind, could we go somewhere quieter? I’d love to get to know you better. Wait, not like that. I genuinely mean I’d like to have a conversation with you,” his flushed cheeks made him even cuter.

“Sure, lead the way, my noble hero,” you took his hand in yours.

It was a bold move, and you usually preferred to play it safe. Tonight was different. You’ll probably never see this guy again. Where’s the harm in flirting a little?

“Of course, my lady,” he played along.

He led you outside to the gardens. Fairy lights were strung up everywhere, giving the gardens an inviting aura. Tall shrubbery caught your eye. Jimin’s eyes followed your gaze.

“It’s a maze,” he said, observing your curiosity.

“This place has an actual labyrinth?” your eyes widened in disbelief.

“Wanna go explore it? I can’t guarantee you that we won’t get lost,” he offered.

“Yes please!” your eyes lit up.

Jimin couldn’t help but smile at your ebullience. How did someone so sweet end up in a twisted place like this?

“Can we take off these silly masks now? I hate wearing mine,” Jimin squeezed your hand.

“Sure, I don’t care. I apologize in advance if you go blind after seeing my face,” you jested.

You both took a moment to soak in each other’s true appearances. Jimin was more handsome than you could’ve dreamt. His individually delicate features attributed to an overall godly image that you had a hard time believing was real.

“Even more beautiful than I imagined,” Jimin acknowledged you with an approving smile, “Let’s ditch this stupid soiree,” he held out his arm for you.

Abandoning the masks on the ground, you practically dragged Jimin into the labyrinth. Corn mazes at Fall Festivals were fun, but this was the real deal. The hedges were at least 3 meters tall. No one would be able to find you if you actually got lost here.

“I think I heard that the trick is to keep to the right wall,” Jimin explained.

“Why don’t we take turns choosing which way to go? Unless you’re scared of getting lost,” you teased.

“Don’t get mad at me when we’ve been stuck in here for days,” he laughed.

You traversed the maze hand in hand with Jimin. The conversation began to flow naturally. Jimin listened to you intently and replied thoughtfully.

The night darkened as the party was left further behind. Normally, this eerie setting would frighten you, but your company made it bearable. Nothing but the moonlight lit your path now. You were too busy enjoying yourself to realize that you both were hopelessly lost.

“I hope you don’t mind me pointing out that this is the third dead end we’ve encountered in the past two minutes,” Jimin elucidated once you found yourselves staring at a green barrier yet again.

“Do you think someone will come to rescue us?” you started to panic.

“Definitely not tonight. Probably not tomorrow either,” Jimin answered brusquely.

“Let’s retrace our steps again. I might end up eating you if we really do get stuck out here,” you tried to joke.

“Eat me?” Jimin chuckled, “My dear, what if I end up eating you?”

“Sorry pretty boy, but I feel like I could easily beat your ass in hand to hand combat,” you laugh as you turn to leave.

Suddenly, your back was being pinned against a hedge. Jimin placed one of his hands on your shoulder and the other one on your waist.

“Let me rephrase that. What if I end up eating you out?” he raised an eyebrow suggestively.

“I might enjoy that. However,” you quickly hook your leg around his knee to dead leg him.

Jimin’s surprise gave you the opportunity to knock him to the ground. You wrapped your right arm around his left arm, effectively pinning him down. You firmly gripped his left wrist with the same arm, rendering both of his arms useless.

“I don’t think you’re capable of doing that right now,” you fake a pout as your free hand wanders from his chest down to his crotch.

He was already somewhat hard when you began to palm him through his pants. You planted a soft kiss on his neck, sucking slightly before breaking contact. Jimin moaned at the sensation, his hips bucking up into your hand.

“What do you want, pretty boy?” you whispered in his ear as you cupped his length in your hand.

“Oh my god I want to fuck you,” he pleaded.

“You’re in no position to fuck anyone,” you reminded him, tightening your grip on his arms.

“I want you to fuck me, ___,” Jimin’s whines grew desperate.

“Is that so?” you say as you unzip his pants, “Here outside? On the ground? That’s a bit improper for a prince like you, don’t you think?”

His erection was fully exposed now. You slowly pumped him, pleased with his length. It took every bit of self-control to not immediately pounce on his dick. You traced your thumb around the soft tip, causing him to moan again.

“I don’t care. I just need my cock buried in you,” Jimin replied between moans.

“You’re so needy. I guess I could help you out,” you release him from your clutches.

Jimin instantly knocked you onto your back as soon as he was freed. He pinned you the same way you pinned him. You were both impressed and shocked that he learned how to do it already.

“That was a cheeky display. Very hot. I admit that I’ve never begged for pussy before, so props to you,” Jimin awarded you plaudits.

His free hand snaked its way down to your clothed pussy, pleased to find that you were already wet. He toyed with your clit through the fabric of your panties. He relished watching your squirm beneath him.

“It’s not so fun being pinned down, huh?” he kissed your neck in a similar fashion, except he ended his kiss with forceful suckling that was sure to leave a mark.

“I don’t know, it’s kind of fun,” you tried to keep your cool, but were failing miserably.

“Do you want me to touch you, my dear ___?” Jimin asked sweetly.

“Please do,” you exhaled with exasperation.

“You can beg better than that,” he admonished.

“Jimin, fuck me until I forget my own name,” you begged.

“You’ll only know my name by the end of tonight,” Jimin promised as he pulled your panties aside.

He slid in a finger to test how wet you were. You squealed with delight as he easily stuck in two fingers. He expertly curled them in you, grazing your g-spot. Your body tried to move to cope with the pleasure, but Jimin refused to let you go.

“You’re staying right here until I say so. I enjoyed going along with your power play, but you have to learn that I’m the one in charge,” he smirked.

His thumb circled your clit as he mercilessly fingered you. Your legs spasmed as your orgasm led a wave of euphoria across your body.

“Jimin, I’m--oh fuck, I’m cumming,” you cried out.

Jimin helped you ride it out, not slowing down his pace. However, he still didn’t slow down afterward. Your clit was oversensitive and tears began to well in your eyes.

“You’re beautiful when you cum, I want to see it again,” he praised as his pace quickened yet again.

It wasn’t long before your second orgasm hit. The bliss was more intense this time, causing you to cry out even louder. Jimin finally pulled his fingers out of you, then promptly popped them into his mouth.

“You taste like a delicacy,” he said after licking his lips, “You ready to take this cock?”

You nodded silently, as you were attempting to catch your breath.

Jimin aligned his hips with yours. He tantalizingly ran his dick along your wet folds. His tip eventually teased your entrance by barely entering before he took it out again. He loved watching your body beg to be fucked; your hips seemed to move by themselves as they tried to buck into him.

“Jimin, I can’t take this anymore. Stick it in already!” you yelled.

“So impatient,” Jimin chuckled, “Ready?”

“Yes!”

Jimin slowly inserted himself in you. You groaned at the feeling of finally being stretched out by his cock. His tip was fully inside you when a commotion interrupted him.

“We’re fucking lost bro,” a guy said.

“We wouldn’t be in this mess if you listened to me in the first place!” his companion retorted.

Jimin immediately pulled out and helped you up. He shoved his erection into his pants before leaning against a hedge to blend into the shadow.

“You’re the one who said you wanted to go in!” the first man bickered back.

“I said ‘I bet no one else is in there, let’s check it out’”, his companion explained.

“Okay, well now we’re lost. We haven’t even seen a single person since we’ve entered.”

Jimin took you by the hand and quietly led you out of the dead end. He didn’t know where the interrupters were, but he simply went in the opposite direction of their voices.

“We’re all alone now. Pull down your pants, Hobi,” you heard one of the guys say.

“Make me, Yoongi,” the other guy challenged.

“You won’t be so cheeky when my balls are in your mouth,” Yoongi replied, his voice suddenly lower and domineering.

The sound of clothes being ripped off mixed with passionate groans and wet noises grew further away as Jimin navigated through the maze.

“They sound like they’re having fun,” you broke the silence.

“That should have been us,” Jimin was obviously annoyed, “I’m gonna get us the fuck out of this goddamn maze. I swear to god, I’m going to dick you down properly tonight.”

You didn’t know which was more impressive: sheer luck or Jimin’s determination. Either way, one of those things (or maybe some of both) allowed both of you to finally emerge from the maze’s clutches.

Jimin dragged you back to the mansion while completely ignoring everyone who called out to him. You’re not surprised by his popularity; this man looks like he was carved by God himself.

The party had only escalated inside the mansion. Guests had started to forgo public decency altogether. You saw at least three explicit acts of fornication on your way up to the private rooms.

Once upstairs, you heard nothing but people deep in the throes of passion on the other side of just about every door. Jimin led you past them all, not even stopping in front of the ones indicated as ‘vacant’. At the end of the neverending hall was a large ornate wooden door. Its style clashed with the sleek marble that decorated the rest of the mansion.

Jimin whipped out a key from his pocket and unlocked the door. You weren’t prepared for what was on the other side. Unlike the modern style that fitted the rest of the house, this room was decorated with wood.

The carved wooden furniture gleamed brightly due to their polish. The room itself was huge. A king sized bed awaited you at the opposite wall. Elegant curtains draped around the bed, reminding you of the beds royalty would use in movies. Even though the room gave off a cozy aura, it still boasted opulence.

“You like it?” Jimin asked once he saw you gazing around the room in awe.

“It’s beautiful. It feels like I’m in some Elvish Woodland King’s room or something,” you spoke honestly.

“That’s high praise,” he chuckled, “C’mon. I believe we have some unfinished business,” he pulled you onto the bed.

Jimin kissed your neck, peppering in nibbles that made you shudder. You slipped off your skirt and panties as he fondled your breasts. You helped him undress as you threw off his suit jacket and unbuttoned his shirt. You held back a gasp when his abs and toned chest were revealed. You figured he was fit, but you didn’t realize how fit.

His fingers found their way back into your pussy. Jimin sucked on your neck as his nimble fingers made you wetter by the second. Your back arched as your moaned in pleasure when his thumb played with your clit.

“I’m so fucking wet, Jimin,” you breathed into his ear.

“All for me, baby?” he cooed.

“Who else? Honestly, I’ve never been this aroused in my life,” you admitted.

“I’m happy I could change that for you. If you liked my fingers that much, let’s see what my cock can do for you,” he winked as he tugged off his pants.

Jimin spread your legs open as far as they could go. He didn’t have the patience to tease you this time. He filled your pussy up with the entirety of his cock. You relished the stretch; you’ve been waiting all night for this the moment you laid eyes on him.

Jimin began vigorously thrusting into you. The sound of his hips slamming into you coupled with the wet noises of your sopping pussy were drowned out by moans from both parties. Hearing Jimin’s grunts only turned you on more, and the same could be said whenever Jimin heard your melodic moans.

Jimin leaned over to makeout with you, his tongue dipping between your parted lips. You clawed at his back while you kissed him back with ferocious reciprocity. You were getting close to climaxing yet again.

“Jimin, I’m so--”

“Missionary? I know you can do better than that,” an unfamiliar voice interrupted you.

“Fuck off, can’t you see that I’m busy?” Jimin replied angrily, yet he never stopped fucking you.

You were so embarrassed that you grabbed a pillow to hide your face. One person seeing you like this was already flustering enough, but two? Although your mind immediately went to shaming you for being in such a compromising position, it was also kind of a turn on.

“Aw, is she shy? That’s cute,” the unfamiliar boy said.

“What do you want?” Jimin finally pulled out to actually hold a conversation with the intruder.

“I got bored. I figured I’d come in here and jack off or something. I didn’t think you’d be using it,” the voice got closer.

“Well, I am. So get lost,” Jimin growled.

Suddenly, the pillow that covered your face was yanked off. Looking down at you was a man whose beauty rivaled Jimin’s (though you didn’t think that was possible). The man had more of a boyish devil-may-care look. His long dark hair framed his face perfectly, as it showed off his sharp jawline. He traced a finger from your cheek down to your chin.

“She’s cute,” he gave Jimin an approving nod.

“Yeah, and she’s mine. Go away, Jungkook,” Jimin was getting more frustrated by the second.

“Yours? Are you guys dating already?” Jungkook raised his eyebrows in amusement.

“No, but--”

“Then it should be fine if I did this,” Jungkook cupped your face with one hand as he bent down to kiss you.

“Jungkook!” Jimin threw a pillow at him.

Jungkook chuckled as the pillow harmlessly bounced off of him. He deepened the kiss, and soon your tongues were swirling over each other. One of his hands wandered over to your breasts. He pinched your nipple, causing you to gasp into his mouth.

“Oh, she’s so sensitive,” Jungkook smirked, “Let me play with her after you.”

“She’s not a toy,” Jimin defended you.

“It’s okay,” you said softly.

“What?” both of the boys asked in unison.

“You can both use me...however you like,” you looked away shyly, bewildered at what you had just said.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” Jungkook grinned.

“You’re too sweet for your own good, ___. Are you sure?” Jimin asked.

You simply nodded, not able to make eye contact with either of them.

“Alright, baby. Let me take care of you first. Jungkook, you can watch how a man properly fucks a lady,” Jimin glared at Jungkook.

Jungkook stripped down to his underwear as Jimin flipped you onto your knees. You moaned loudly as he started hitting it from the back. This position allowed him to penetrate you even deeper. You buried your face in the sheets in an attempt to muffle your whines.

“Nuh uh,” Jimin tsked as he grabbed a fistful of your hair.

He pulled your head up, exposing your lustful moans. He thrusted harder when he heard you. You opened your eyes to find Jungkook intently staring at you. Feeling cheeky, you made a ‘come here’ motion with one of your pointer fingers.

Jungkook happily obliged. Instead of directly kissing you, he licked up your neck, causing you to shudder. He sucked lightly on your neck as he once again played with your boobs.

“You’re not mad, Jimin?” he was surprised.

“She got wetter. Keep doing whatever you’re doing,” Jimin was lost in pure bliss.

Jungkook pulled you into another heated makeout session. You periodically moaned into his mouth whenever he tugged at your nipples. You whined as he broke the kiss.

“Such a good girl,” Jungkook stroked your cheek, “Wanna try something?” he asked.

You eagerly nodded. It was hard to think when one gorgeous man was making out with you and pinching your nipples, while another gorgeous man was roughly fucking you from behind.

“Open your mouth and stick your tongue out,” Jungkook ordered.

You complied, opening as wide as you could. You watched Jungkook reveal his hard cock, which made your mouth water. His dick was bigger than Jimin’s, but less girthy. It had a little curve that made it look prettier for some reason.

“Want me to put it in? I’d love to see how deep you can take it,” Jungkook stroked his cock.

“I’ll take it all,” you said confidently.

Jungkook smiled at your determination. He lightly placed the tip onto your tongue. You twirled your tongue around it, making Jungkook moan with surprise.

“Maybe she’s not as shy as I thought,” he said to Jimin.

Jimin harshly spanked your ass, causing you to jerk forward. You heard him chuckle behind you.

“I love it when good girls go bad. They’re always the most fun,” Jimin reached his hand around you to play with your clit.

You almost lost control in your arms and fell forward when Jungkook grabbed you.

“You have to be a good girl and hold yourself up. We can fuck you from both sides if you do that, babygirl,” Jungkook ran his thumb along your drooly lips.

You propped yourself back up on your arms and opened your mouth again for Jungkook. He patted your head in approval before placing his dick back onto your tongue. He began pushing himself into your mouth, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Blink twice if it’s too much,” Jungkook instructed.

To his surprise, you managed to take in his full length. You kept gagging since Jimin was thrusting you forward, but that just made it feel better for Jungkook. Jungkook let you know that he was going to start face fucking you, to which you nodded in response. Well, as much as you could nod while his penis was in your mouth.

It didn’t take long for both of the both to boys to fuck you in unison. They rhythmically pulled out and thrusted into you at the exact same time. The intensity of everything turned you on so much, you could feel your juices running down your legs.

Your climax hit you like a truck. Your legs spasmed under you as you cried and gagged on Jungkook’s dick. The feeling of you cumming on Jimin’s cock brought him to the edge. Almost immediately after, Jimin pulled out and came all over your ass.

“Switch places with me,” Jungkook instructed Jimin, “You didn’t think you were done yet, did you?” he winked at you before pulling his dick out of your mouth.

Your sensitivity was through the roof. Jungkook didn’t give you any warning before he inserted himself in you. Jungkook went even deeper than Jimin, and your legs were on the verge of giving out.

“It looks like she can’t hold herself anymore,” Jimin observed with a sly smile.

“I guess I have to do all the work. Stupid slut,” Jungkook groaned, abruptly snatching your arms.

He chuckled when you momentarily fell forward onto your face, but he easily lifted you back up by pulling back on your wrists. You’ve never been roughly restrained like that before, but you wouldn’t complain. Jungkook’s powerful thighs slammed into you repeatedly.

You couldn’t begin to comprehend how sinful you looked: titties bouncing, messy hair, and a lustful expression that rivaled that of succubi themselves. Not to mention you were practically glowing from the film of sweat that developed over the night.

“I’m jealous that he’s kissed you more than I have,” Jimin pouted before he cupped your face.

Wriggling underneath you, Jimin made it easier for you to kiss him. His pillowy lips felt heavenly as he playfully fondled your breasts. He didn’t twist or pinch your nipples like Jungkook did. Instead, he massaged them in a way that still felt delightful.

“Dude, your junk is really close to mine,” Jungkook complained.

“I don’t give a fuck,” Jimin responded between your kisses.

Jungkook’s pace started getting sloppy. You could tell he was close just by his irregular breaths. The room was filled with lewd sounds. Jungkook’s grunts, Jimin’s moans, and your mewls all blended into a chorus of carnal pleasure.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” Jungkook stuttered before pulling out.

You felt his hot juices splatter across your backside. You toppled onto Jimin when Jungkook let go of your wrists. Jimin just chuckled and held you in a warm embrace.

“You did so well, ___,” he praised before kissing your forehead.

“Was that your first threesome? If so, I’m impressed,” Jungkook cleaned you up with a warm washcloth.

“Mhm,” was all you could muster up to answer his question.

“She’s pretty out of it. Should she stay here for the night?” Jimin asked Jungkook.

“You’re offering to house her? You must have really loved her pussy,” Jungkook laughed.

“Shut up, I’m being serious. I don’t want to let her go back out there to those animals,” Jimin disclosed.

“Did she come alone?” Jungkook sat at the foot of the bed.

“She said she was watching a friend...I don’t think she mentioned who though. Hey, ___, darling, who did you come with?” Jimin gently questioned.

“Chungha,” you said meekly.

“Holy shit. Everyone has been trying to get with her all night,” Jungkook was shocked, “Yeah, I think her friend will be fine on her own. I can watch after her if you want.”

“By watch you mean fuck?” Jimin rolled his eyes.

“Who’s to say I haven’t already?” Jungkook replied cheekily, “You’ve been the most fun I’ve had in a while though,” Jungkook affectionately began scratching your back.

Your eyelids were getting heavier with each passing moment. You instinctively clutched onto Jimin tighter. You’ve always been a cuddler when it was time to sleep.

“I’m gonna go, want me to lock the door?” you heard Jungkook say.

“Yes please. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Jimin sent him off.

“Are you sleepy?” he asked while stroking your hair.

“Mhm. And hungry,” you said half asleep.

“What would you like to eat?” Jimin inquired.

“Grilled cheese,” you said without skipping a beat.

“Just grilled cheese? I could get you anything you want. Lobster, caviar, takoyaki, or maybe even steak?” Jimin was eager to take care of you.

“What time is it?” you asked groggily.

“Uh, a little past 1am.”

“It’s time for a midnight snack. And grilled cheese is the perfect midnight snack,” you nodded your head to confirm your reasoning.

“God, you’re adorable. Alright, a grilled cheese will be here soon,” he kissed your forehead again.

“You go make it?” you pouted, not wanting him to leave your side.

“No, I just texted one of the chefs,” he answered.

“Oh, you’re friends with a chef? That’s nice.”

“Somewhat? They work for my father.”

“Is your father the head chef?”

“No, he’s a businessman,” Jimin chuckled.

“Do you like business? Like your father?”

“No, I actually detest it. My father’s riches mean nothing if he can’t even love his family. He does ridiculous things to showcase his ‘love’ but I don’t buy it. Like this stupid fucking party that he throws every year. His excuse is that he’s providing any luxury money can buy. It’s all just bullshit,” Jimin sounded upset.

“This party? Your dad hosted it?” intrigue stirred you from your sleepy state.

“Yeah, this is the house I grew up in. This is my room,” Jimin admitted.

You were silent for a bit before responding, “I’m sorry your dad is a dick.”

“Don’t worry about it, it’s not your fault. At least one good thing came out of tonight,” he squeezed you tighter.

A knock at the door interrupted your thoughts. Jimin retrieved the delivery. Never in a million years would you have thought that you’d be eating grilled cheese off of a silver platter. Jimin ate quietly beside you.

“I don’t know if this is too forward, but would you like to go on a date with me sometime?” he finally piped up.

“I literally can’t think of anyone that has seen me more intimately than you. Well, besides Jungkook. Of course, I’ll go on a date with you,” you leaned over to kiss Jimin’s nose.

“I guess the dating timeline is a little off since you’re spending the night here too,” Jimin laughed before stopping himself, “Wait, you are spending the night, right?”

“I have no idea where Chungha is, and she’s my ride,” you shrugged.

“You’re welcome to say here if you’d like,” he offered.

“I suppose I can clear my schedule for you,” you teased.

With a tummy full of grilled cheese, it didn’t take long for you to fall sound asleep in Jimin’s arms.

[9:24am from Chungha] BITCH! I heard rumors you slept with THE Park Jimin?! A different rumor said you slept with Jeon Jungkook??? Explain please???

[10:19am] What if I slept with both?

[10:20am from Chungha] NO WAY! Tell me all about it asap

“You good?” Jimin nuzzled your neck.

“Never better,” you smiled.

Published January 7, 2021. No editing, copying, translating, or reposting allowed. All Rights Reserved © 2020-2021 Baepsaesbae

[lovelivingmydreams]

My king au headcannon Part two

So this is the follow up to this post  Which is a headcanon for this au created by @rondoel Enjoy!

Something to think about The king was meditating. He was trying to familiarize himself with the mindscape again, get a better feeling of it and see what his halves had done since the split. He was sorely disappointed. There were pages upon pages of ideas, but he found no evidence of them in the fantasy realm. No traces of the epic quests the ‘light’ half had envisioned, despite how well worked out they appeared. An ‘Ultimate Storytime’ should have left traces in the kingdom. Remus at least lived out his ideas even if they were only ever half formed and lacked substance beyond the initial impulse that brought them about. The results of these outbursts weren’t all that impressive either. He didn’t examine the ideas too closely. Obviously his perfectionistic half had abandoned them for a reason and so they weren’t worth his time. The one named Roman had spent some time in the fantasy realm, but he didn’t considered it his main duty. Instead he’d wasted time on crafting ‘ideas’ and ‘bonding’ with the others. Even the impulsive Remus had prioritized interacting with Deceit over expressing himself. Disgusting. Not that he could truly fault either of his halves. Other than his purpose every trace of him had been purged from their minds during the split. They hadn’t known to distrust the others the way he knew they should’ve. Obviously the others were to blame for all this.

As he thought of them he could feel his minister’s energy surging and subsiding in subtle burst and raging waves. One of Roman’s nickname for him ‘Stormy Knight’ seemed to suit the boy quite well at the moment. The minister was mostly alone, aside from morality. Someone had to babysit him he supposed. Suddenly he became aware of music… something strange yet familiar. “Disney. Medley.” A faint memory offered him. He remembered Disney. It was his aspiration to create worlds and adventures just as amazing for Thomas to escape to when the real world inevitably bored him. Clearly he hadn’t been gone long enough for that to change. Though he didn’t recognize the melody that was currently playing, even though he could tell that it wasn’t something obscure and nearly forgotten to Thomas. The entire imagination responded to the melody as if it was an old friend. Almost as if it was born here even. There were voices singing, a magnificent harmony. Powerful and foreboding. He followed the sound of the voices and soon saw a structure appear. As he approached he found it was a massive statue expertly carved from marble. Center stage stood a figure he recognized as Thomas holding his hands in front of him to form a heart. A brilliant smile on his face. It was heartwarming to see his boy like that. To Thomas’ left stood grown Morality with one arm thrown over his shoulder and another pulling the hooded side, Anxiety, his minister, into the group. The young side allowed it with a small smirk and gentle eyes directed at their protégé. On Thomas’ right stood Logic, a steady hand on the boy’s shoulder as he adjusted his glasses, which did not conceal the fond look on the man’s face. On Logic’s right stood Deceit, his back slightly turned to the rest and adjusting his hat, but also with a soft, caring expression gracing his features. Then right behind Thomas, standing slightly taller than they would have in reality, seemingly standing on a stage behind the group, but close enough to still be part of the ensemble, was him. Or the two sides that had been him for a while. Roman looked regal and was posing as though he had not a care in the world, his eyes proudly overseeing his subjects. Not minding the presence of Remus who was hanging of his ‘brother’s’ shoulders and making a face. It was an idyllic picture that never was and now never could be. There was beauty in it’s tragic impossibility. At the feet of the stone depictions were stone letters. Fam in cursive and then in big bold lines ILY. And leaning against the L was the minister, singing the song that had lured King away from his meditation. The shadows around him were aiding in his musical endeavor drifting around him and the statue. King took in the marvel once more, wondering how the nervous side had managed to create such a blessing with what should’ve been a cruel curse for at least a few more days before King would grant the young one his council and guidance. He hadn’t enjoyed being cruel to him. Not entirely. Sure, he had opposed creativity in the past and deserved to be disciplined. But king also knew how integral he was to the process. Roman’s discoveries regarding that weren’t lost to him. He couldn’t silence Anxiety completely. He would not get Thomas to go on adventures at all if he did so. But he had to teach him his place now, before he got any ideas of fighting him. The minister had been about to try just that and might have been successful too if he’d gone all out at once. But luckily he seemed unaware of his own abilities, or at least unwilling to use them on what he still thought to be the twins he’d known all his life. Alas he’d never get the opportunity again. “It all can be sold!” the shadows chorused around the teen-like side, captivating baby Morality with their movements as the little one clutched to the dark uniform and distracting King from his musings. “As a specimen yes I’m intimidating!” One voice continued, drifting around the side who was swaying to the music playing in his headphones with his eyes closed, holding onto Morality and then the dark clad side sang himself. “You can blame my friends on the ooootheeeer siiiiiiiiiide.” And just like that the shadows dispersed. Mostly anyway. They still swirled around the minister, but they were more of a dark aura than when they originally manifested. Anxiety seemed to be in better spirits than when he came to offer his ridiculous apology to Roman. King barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the memory. What a waste of time. Still it had been sincere, at least it seemed to be. And King wasn’t completely insensitive. He could understand that it would be hard for this young one to let go of his halves when he had never known them as one. Perhaps, King could cut him a little slack. Though he would have to remain vigilant… Hmmm, why did that word feel so odd when thinking about… Right, Virgil. Everyone had names now. Not that he cared much for those. Names were too… Names were for friends, allies. He didn’t need a name, nor did his subjects. Lest any of them forget who was in charge. King wouldn’t. Never again. The infant noticed that they were no longer alone in the room and tugged at Anxiety’s hair to get his attention. In response Thomas’ guardian pulled off his headphones and looked down at the heart. “What’s wrong popstar… or… Well, doesn’t really fit right now I guess,” Anxiety chuckled a little sadly. “Guess I’m more the dad now than you, huh?” he mused. “When this is all over, I promise I’ll never complain about you treating me like your kid again.” There was an uneasiness forming in King’s stomach. Anxiety was close with Morality, both Roman and Remus remembered that. But… how close was Morality with Anxiety? King knew that their ‘moral compass’ could be as two faced as Deceit. No, this could be part of an elaborate plan to gain his trust, he’d fallen for it once before. And of course they’d send Anxiety to do their dirty work now that all of them had already shown him their true colors. Little Morality pointed at King and Anxiety looked up, curious at first and then his eyes widened in fear. He put the child behind him and stood in a strange mixture of a respectful bow and a defensive stance. Arms slightly spread to shield his friend and head raised so he didn’t quite let his eyes leave King’s frame. “I…I’m sorry if I was too loud,” Anxiety offered with trembling voice, assuming he’d angered his king someway. Good. King approached, not sure if he was in the mood to scold or to praise just yet, but stopped about three steps in front of Anxiety as his foot hit something. He looked down and saw that the floor surrounding his minister was covered in sketches. He looked up at Anxiety with a raised brow, curious to hear what had brought on this little storm of creativity. And he found him staring at the sketches around them in horror. Then he seemingly felt the structure behind him, he turned and looked up in horror, trembling even harder. He looked back at King with wide eyes. “I…I didn’t mean to…” he started. “Then I look forward to see what you create for me when you intend to do so young one,” King mutters calmly, as he bids one of the drawings to come to his hand. As far as he can tell it’s two children playing in a forest. “Tell me about this one boy,” he instructs as he shows Anxiety the drawing. The side takes the sketch with a frown and looks at it for a moment before a small smile of recognition appears on his face. “I’d manifested for about two months. Remus felt it was about time I came on an adventure,” he starts explaining, and as he does the drawing rises up and gains colors and details that weren’t there before. Anxiety didn’t seem to notice, too captivated by his own memory as he described how freaked out he was by the forest and all its creepy creatures. Remus never let a single one touch him though. Still, it was stressful for him and he didn’t come along as often as Remus would like. The painting showed two preteens, Remus and Anxiety, the later clutching a comfort item, pillow or blanket, King wasn’t sure, maybe it was a stuffed animal. They were running around and laughing. But in their shadows Anxiety was curled up in a ball and Remus was making a gesture as if he’d just popped out and screamed ‘boo’. A lovely memory with a shadow side. But that was the nicest thing Anxiety could create with the power King had granted. Once the story was done and the painting finished, King snapped his fingers and conjured a dark wooden frame with a vine pattern around it and hung it on a non-existent wall. “I’m sorry, I know you said to get rid of the feelings, but I… I can’t… I always mess up like this please I…” Anxiety flinched when King reached out for him. Curling into himself, expecting another curse or some other punishment perhaps. Which is probably why his posture relaxed and his face was overcome with confused surprise when all he received was a brief pat on his hair. “You may not have gotten rid of those feelings but you did something even better,” King laid a hand on Anxiety’s shoulder and looked down on him. “You made something out of them. I am very pleased with you,” he informed his disciple. Anxiety looked up at him confused. “Really?” he asked, his voice breaking over the single word. Before King could answer, a displeased cooing pulled Anxiety’s attention away. He turned around and picked up the infant who immediately latched onto his neck and stared at King over his shoulder. Clearly the infant retained enough of Morality’s adult thoughts to be wary of him. Good it wouldn’t be a proper curse if the traitor wasn’t aware of the danger King posed to him and his precious family. King grinned menacingly at Morality, hoping it’d confirm the child’s worst fears about his intentions for who he apparently considered a son. What could be worse than agonizing over the fact that your sins would result in an innocent paying for them? For that innocent to be your child of course. “Please Pat, behave alright?” Anxiety muttered as he got up and turned back to the king. “Sorry… Your majesty. He’s a bit clingy,” the young man offered nervously. “Not your fault. I don’t quite understand why Logic and Deceit would leave the care for such a fussy child to their youngest.” Not quite true, King could perfectly see how they thought they had to concentrate on finding a weapon against him that they hadn’t tried already. But still. One would think that the two oldest should be in charge of protecting both their young ones, instead of letting them wander off into the territory of their enemy. If Anxiety had failed to entertain him with his tale, who knows what he would’ve done to amuse himself during this second visit? Maybe he’d put morality in a bit of a dilemma… He might still do so if he ever needed for Anxiety to see that his ‘dad’ didn’t love him as much as he always claimed. “Taking care of him keeps my mind occupied. I don’t want to give Thomas nightmares or anxiety attacks. He doesn’t deserve to suffer for our messes,” Anxiety explained. King might be mistaken, but that almost sounded accusatory. He elected to ignore it. Once his rule was properly reestablished, he could revisit the subject if at all necessary, which he doubted. “Well, creating art seems to do the trick just as well,” he mused as he called forth another picture. Anxiety guessed what he wanted, looked at the picture and started to talk about the movie night and a popcorn fight, then a duel with cardboard swords and laughing about memories of middle school. The colors once again revealed a pleasant day, with a shadow of self-doubt and fear of abandonment. The shadows showed Anxiety pleading on his knees while Roman threatened him with a sword. This time the frame King made was golden and held roses. “C…Can I ask something milord,” Anxiety asked timidly. “Questions are always welcomed in the realm of creativity,” King decreed. Questions created possibilities. “What happened? Before the split I mean? The other’s won’t ever tell me.” That surprised King. And from the way Morality stiffened, he had to assume it was the truth. They’d really not taken the chance to sway Anxiety’s opinion in their favor? For a moment he considers spinning a grand tale of betrayal and heartbreak, but he found the very thought of recalling the details of the events leading up to the split… unpleasant. “I trusted them and they turned against me because they disagreed with my vision for Thomas,” he informed Anxiety calmly, hoping it was enough for now. “I’m sorry. That… That is terrible,” he whispered hugging Morality closer. The young minister couldn’t see it but there were tears in Morality’s eyes. Which pleased King. Let the bespectacled traitor be afraid this may end up being the last hug he’ll ever receive from his precious Anxiety. Was this why they didn’t tell him? Because they knew that there was no spin they could give to their deeds that wouldn’t destroy the trust they’d built with the one among them who already feared being betrayed. “I… It was a long time ago. I think… Logan seemed very ashamed of what happened. Even Janus seems to feel bad. I’m sure… can’t we all…” Anxiety struggled to express his desires, but a new drawing showed what he wanted. King and Logic shaking hands amidst the others, all back to normal and smiling relieved. Faint shadows of Roman and Remus with an arm around one another’s shoulders right behind King. The fact that his minister’s powers had conjured it showed that the desire felt impossible. King dismissed this drawing in favor of another. Anxiety sighed, accepting that the subject was finished, and continued to regale him with stories of the twins. Sometimes it was a sad memory where the shadows revealed his care and worry for them both. Like a fight over a failed audition where shadow Anxiety was trying to patch up shadow Roman. Or a fight about a nightmare where the shadow of Anxiety was embracing Remus. Then memories of the other’s came. A debate about negative thoughts where shadow Logic laid a hand on shadow Anxiety’s shoulder as a gesture of pride. A staring match with Deceit but their shadows were reaching for each other. One memory had no shadows. The ‘lights’ were in Anxiety’s domain and reaching out for him as he sat huddled in on himself on the ground. The image was conflicted enough on it’s own. Then King picked up a drawing of Morality. “That’s the first time you came to talk to me remember Pat?” Virgil coed to the child who’d been rather quiet during the creation of this gallery. Anxiety recalled how he’d been upset about another fight with Roman and he’d come over and sat with him in silence. Then he’d offered him one of his cookies. It had surprised Anxiety, he knew how much Morality loved his cookies. Sharing one was his standard gesture of love and appreciation. But Anxiety felt like he didn’t deserve either at the time. He felt trapped in a role he didn’t want to play. And because of Morality talking to him that day, for the first time, he thought that maybe he didn’t have to be. Anxiety talked more about how the thought was quickly dismissed as unrealistic but King found that it was hard to focus. The colors revealed a painting of a side being offered a hand by Morality. He didn’t even notice the shadows this time. It was like he was trapped in his own memories. Then suddenly, he was back in the present and heard something beside him. A wailing child and someone gasping for air like they’d ran a marathon at full speed. He looked down and found Anxiety curled up in a ball, rocking back and forth with a crying Morality sitting next to him clutching onto his arm. Before he could wonder what had happened he could feel the others approaching at high speed. He stepped back, not wanting to be found too close to the distressed side. He could not allow them to think for even a moment, that he felt a second of worry for the minister. He didn’t, but he didn’t need the implications of such a show of weakness to bring his strength into question. “Patton! Virgil!” Deceit called out, causing Morality to calm down and just let out a few more sniffles. King set up a disinterested mask and turned to the approaching sides. “Oh good, deal with this. They bore me,” he drawled calmly as he stepped aside. He was barely acknowledged which he normally would take offense in, but he’d let it slide until he knew what had happened just now. And if it had anything to do with that terrible feeling that had struck him when he saw Anxiety’s drawing. Logic kneeled next to Anxiety and Deceit spoke with Logic’s voice. “Virgil, can you hear us?” The boy nodded. “May we touch you?” Another nod and Logic placed his hands on the side’s shoulders. “Breath Virgil, in for 4, hold for 7 out for 8, you can do it.” One more nod and the side started to follow the rhythm that was tapped on his shoulders, stuttering trough the 4th count of holding his breath. “That’s alright, try again.” King observed as the two patiently helped Anxiety to breathe normally again. Somewhere along the line the troubled side started to whisper ‘sorry,’ and ‘so stupid’. “You are not stupid, your feelings are valid and we are here to help you with them. We shouldn’t have left you on your own. Especially not with him around,” Deceit growled, now in his own voice, before turning to King. “I don’t care what you do to me, but leave Virgil out of this! He has nothing to do with this.” Before king could retort. Claim the responsibility and remind Deceit that he’ll play with his minister however he likes, the boy spoke up himself. “Not his fault. Just, random attack,” he muttered. Deceit and King looked down and found Anxiety holding onto Logic with Morality trying his best to stand on wobbly legs while holding onto the purple sash adorning the minster uniform. Logic and Morality were staring at him accusatory, but Anxiety was pleading with Deceit. “You don’t have to defend him Virgil. We know what he’s like… And we’ll do a better job at protecting you now. I swear. Let us look out for you for once, please,” Deceit pleaded. So interesting. For all Anxiety’s fears of being abandoned and betrayed, the others seemed to fear for his safety before their own. Had they changed? Or had Anxiety not yet given them sufficient reason to be muzzled? Or was it his drastic decision of muzzling himself that had made them cautious of messing with his part of their duties? “I’m not. Jan look at me. You’d know if I was lying. He was just listening to me. He didn’t do anything bad. I promise.” Deceit frowned confused. “He didn’t do this to harm you? To cause you to create…” Finally Deceit really looked at what King and Anxiety had been working on and the statue Anxiety had done all by himself. “Virgil what…” “I don’t know, I was listening to music and all this just sort of happened. His majesty was helping me finish some drawings,” he explained, confusing King. Was he… what’s the term? Covering for him? Then Anxiety got up, picking up Morality and looking at Logic who followed his movements, hands hovering around him. As if he were afraid that the younger side would fall apart at any moment. “Please, just go back alright, I’ll be fine. Thanks for helping but you should focus on making sure Thomas is alright,” Anxiety explained bravely, not quite looking at the others. Had recalling all his doubts and fears made him suspicious of the others? This could benefit King greatly. “Run along now. And take Morality. I have matters to discuss with my minister. In private,” King informed Logic and Deceit. Anxiety looked from King back to his tutor and confidant and offered him Morality. Logic shook his head with wide eyes. “Logan, it’s alright. You look after Pat for a minute. I’ll be back soon. Just… Please trust me?” Logic hesitated, sighed in defeat and took the child. He moved to leave, but paused. He turned and laid a hand on Anxiety’s shoulder, a moment passed while the two held each other’s gaze. Anxiety nodded and patted Logic’s hand. “I will be safe. When am I ever not?” Something that would have been a chuckle rippled through Logic’s chest as he stepped away and started walking back to the commons, glancing back every ten steps or so. “Virgil… I…” Deceit started, unable to finish the thought. “I know. I’ll be okay.” And with that final assurance and a distrustful look towards King the last of the traitors left. “Why?” King wondered. It seemed obvious to him that whatever Anxiety just went through was actually meant for him. And not only had he taken the hit, he had covered for him as well. “I’m anxiety, taking on the insecurities and fears of the others is part of my job. I don’t take it all, just the really bad bits when I can take it. And… it took me forever to open up to the others about my own attacks. It wasn’t my place to share about yours. It’s nothing personal. Just me being professional I guess,” he shrugged casually. King allowed himself a small smirk and once again reached out to pat Anxiety’s hair. Once more the boy’s first instinct was to flinch, but he still let him do as he pleased. “Well done my boy. You have potential,” he told him before returning his attention to another drawing, leaving the one of Morality frameless. Later he might tell the little one a bit more about the betrayal. But first. He needed to get to know him better. “Now how about this one.”Being petted like a dog was degrading, humiliating. Trying to not just be civil towards him but formal and respectful was torture. But it was better than what he feared would happen every time the King moved his hand towards him. Virgil didn’t like being changed against his will and this king would do as he pleased with him. Which is why he had to keep him happy and away from the others. He ignored the urge to smile every time he received the king’s praise. He is not going to develop Stockholm Syndrome just because off a few half-baked complements. This guy is still a threat to Thomas… Even if the others, maybe made a mistake in the past and have a hard time owning up to that right now. Fact remained that Virgil’s job was to keep everyone safe. That meant making them not want to decapitate the king over an anxiety attack he hadn’t triggered on purpose. Still… What had triggered the attack?

[angeli-marco-writes]

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆  Tom Holland - Just Friends?  ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

A/N - posting for the first time in forever, this time with a Tom Holland imagine that’s already been on my wattpad for a loooong time. Go check that out though, angeli.marco because I have whole ass collections on there rather than just the odd few one shots. 

Warnings - drinking, very light mentions of drugs, swearing. Also its like 5k words so it’s long as well.

Summary - you and tom have been best friends for a long time and inseparable for just as long. The boys welcome you as one of their own, and you’re basically a part of the family. That’s your main issue, because when you begin to harbour feelings for your best friend, you’re not sure if he feels the same.

YOU AND TOM HAVE AN INTENSE FRIENDSHIP, there’s no denying it. In fact, the intensity worries his family, it all happened so fast.

The two of you met about a year and a half ago at your local supermarket. You were just going shopping for some food as you moved to London, and you saw Tom there. You recognised him, but you of course didn’t want to be a bother, so you began to hyperventilate in the bread aisle, thinking you were alone, just when Tom poked his head around the corner. 

“You okay, Miss? You sound like you’re dying.” Those were his very first words to you, and you couldn’t even look him in the eye when responding.

“I-I’m fine, tha-thanks Mr Holland.” Could you have been any more awkward? 

However, Tom, thankfully, found it endearing, and to this day he still does. A day hasn’t gone by for the last 18 months that the two of you haven’t spent together. Within a week of meeting, you were on first name terms with all of his family and friends, and every second of your lives are spent in each other’s company, simply platonic though - at least for him.

He spends his time with you on pranks, swiftly followed by an apology cupcake (never handmade, at least not by him), and in the evening, he hauls you up to the roof of your apartment building or a spot on his house to get drunk and look at the sky. It’s what you love about him, he incorporates everything the both of you enjoy into your daily lives and it creates this brilliant, inescapable routine of happiness and hangovers, and almost every morning that you wake up with him on the other side of his bed or yours, only to find him half hanging off it, you feel this intense happiness in your chest. That feeling is immediately shut down when you realise that to Tom, you’ll be nothing more than his friend. And in a few months, your whirlwind friendship will be over and he’ll be a stranger to you, a big star you stalk on Instagram, he’ll never be your Tom.

Today, you’d planned to go over to his house as soon as you woke up after spending one of your only ever nights apart, since his parents were out with Paddy, meaning it would only be you two and the boys, whom you also got on well with. He left his door unlocked when he knew you were coming over, something else that confused you, and why would he want you over whilst his parents were absent? Yes, he’s a 23 year old actor, but he’s still a mummy’s boy. You trusted that nothing would happen even though you secretly hoped it would.

On your walk to his house, you text him and get a reply almost immediately, though not what you expect.

YOU - Nearly there :)

TOM - I nicked his phone baby, see you at the door. Harry x

You smile in spite of yourself, shutting your phone off and shoving it in your back pocket with the elegance of a hippo, stumbling over his drive before you even reach his front door. You take a heavy sigh while gathering your dignity, looking up at the house. In the attic, Harrison’s sitting in the window seat, his head in his hands while holding his phone between his shoulder and his ear, another fight in paradise apparently, Sam is in the front room, Tom’s in his bedroom (more precisely in his wardrobe), and Harry is nowhere to be seen. That can only mean trouble.

You open the door and kick your shoes off in the porch, closing the front door as you cautiously open the second, only to be tackled and restrained. Your hands are held behind your back with a strong arm winding around your waist and hot breath fanning your ear.

“Surrender your sweets, baby, or I’ll text your mum from Tom’s phone.” Chirps a voice, cracking a little because you know he’s trying to keep a straight face. How does he always know?

“My back right pocket, be careful or Tom will kill you for laying a hand on me.” You say, and the smirk in your voice is obvious. Within seconds, you’re freed but pulled to the ground by a laughing Harry, laughing so hard his cheeks are a magnificent red and his breathing laboured. “Lovely to see you too Harry.” You say, passing him the packet of skittles that you always carry with you. He takes them gratuitously and stands up first, pulling you up off the floor much to the disappointment of a scowling onlooking Sam, and you race up the stairs to Tom's room. 

“Knock knock,” Upon entering, a childish grin is all over your face.

“Did you get my phone off Harry on my way up here?” Tom asks solemnly, not moving from his position virtually inside his man-sized wardrobe. You flop down on his bed which just happens to be far more comfortable than your own, and sigh.

“No, Harry threatened me with it but he loves me enough to hand it over if you want me to get it.” You grin, your eyes glued to him, but he just doesn’t move. “You okay?” You ask and he nods.

“Yeah course baby, why wouldn’t I be?”

There’s something up that you can’t place, so to snap him into action you mention something guaranteed to get Tom riled up. “Your brother trapped me on my way in, if I hadn't made him laugh he would’ve been grabbing my arse to get hold of my sweets.”

Tom spins on his heel, leaping onto the bed beside you. He starts to trace a calloused finger down your face and neck, only stopping at the neckline of your jumper. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

A lump forms in your throat. His touch electrifies your body, making your mind go lax, but you can’t be complacent. You’re just friends, right?

“Of course he didn’t. Now what are we doing today?” You roll off the side of the bed and away from Tom, folding your arms secretively across your chest. You look out the window at the houses across the street, watching cars go by and seeing the leaves flying in the gusts of wind that come every so often, London really can be pretty.

Tom stands up and follows you, his eyebrows knitted together in concern. He places a hand on your shoulder and tilts your chin up to meet his eyes. “Did Harry hurt you? Tell me, please.”

You smile sadly, shaking your head. “He didn’t, he never would, I promise, I just don’t feel great today,” This ends up being the wrong thing to say, because Tom proceeds to place his hand on your forehead and then the sides of your neck, followed by a chaste kiss to your head which makes your whole body feel weightless. His lips are so soft.

“You haven’t got a temperature, maybe Sam’s lunch will make you feel better.”

For the next two hours, the two of you sit a little too much of a respectable distance apart on the sofa while watching your favourite show, LOST. You don’t talk much, but you find his baby brown eyes looking at you and his mouth gaping like a fish every so often, making a fiery blush heat your face and neck. Harry decides to sit in the empty space between the two of you, shortly followed by Harrison who sits on the arm of the sofa with his arm around your shoulders, only leaving when called to help with the lunch by Sam.

“Harry, can you piss off please?” Tom says after a string of continually failing attempts to push his brother from the sofa space between the two of you.

“Why, so you can sit with your girlfriend?” Harry teases, once again making the wrong choice with an already aggravated Tom. The pair leap to their feet, neither wearing slippers, and start legging it around the house.

You can hear the painful thuds of the pair no doubt slamming into walls and leaving dents, the harsh skids of the tiled floor when their socks fall down their heels, the shrieks and yells of disdain between the brothers, and finally the crash, crack and groan sequence of them piled on the floor, with Harrison entangled in them - you can tell from his posh sounding squeak of despair.

Begrudgingly, you stand up and leave the comfort and warmth of your sofa crease and make your way to the kitchen where Sam is blatantly ignoring the existence of his brothers and their imbecility. 

“Smells good Sam, sorry about them, it’s my fault.” You say absently, crouching down to untangle the pile of tangled limbs.

“Yeah,” Sam responds with a snort, “it is your fault, they keep fighting because they’ve fallen so madly in love with you and can’t decide who should have you.”

His words make you stop dead in your movements and cause an eerie silence to settle over everyone. For a solid, lengthy minute that feels like an hour, no one moves or speaks or breathes, and you’ve never been so confused in your life. Slowly, you stop trying to help the boys and you stand up.

“I- um, he was joking baby.” Tom stammers, watching you stand up to leave. What is it with that nickname making you feel things? 

“Yeah, slip of the tongue love.” Sam adds, leaning over the stove to catch your hand on your way out. You turn to face him, only to have him shoot you an apologetic glance.

“Yeah, whatever. I’ll be upstairs, come find me when you’ve grown up.” You say finally, closing the kitchen door on your way out.

As soon as you’re securely in Tom’s room, you clasp your hands together and release a long held groan of desperation, sliding down the back of the door. Circumstance is killing you, why can’t life just be simple? You look around Tom’s room at all of the framed pictures of the two of you hung from his walls, propped up on his window sill, and a special one in a heart on his bedside locker. Since you met, he’s been your one and only. You haven’t even thought about another boy, well, man. What Sam said has to have been a coincidence, Harry can’t like you, or so you tell yourself. It’d be far easier to date Harry than Tom, but it'd ruin your friendship with them both. You let out another groan and sprawl yourself out on Tom's bed. It’s so familiar to you - the duvet, the mattress, the smell that can only be described as Tom, your makeup stains on the pillows, just everything, including a dress of yours in the wardrobe in case you need to get ready at his house. 

Your eyes flutter closed and your mind spirals back to the day you met. Even then you were surprised at how laid back he was, until it came to his brothers.

──⭒─⭑─⭒──

You look all around your new apartment for a snack, but there’s nothing. Literally nothing except for frozen rice. With a disgruntled moan, you grab your coat and walk down the five flights of stairs to get out of your new building, and walk in the cold London weather and wind to the nearest supermarket. You look inside before entering, and it thankfully seems to be relatively empty, so you shrug off your hood and go inside, only to be met with the sight of your favourite actor, the gorgeous new Spider-Man, Tom Holland. You suffer an internal debate of whether to talk to him or not, and decide against it when your lungs and mind decide to conspire against you.

You quickly run into the bread aisle and think of anything possible to calm you down, but your lungs still don’t want to work, causing your every breath to come out as a laboured whistle. You begin to browse the loaves in an attempt at normality - wholemeal to white, rolls to wraps, but your overdriven brain won’t stop reminding you that your celebrity crush is literally feet away, scrap that, about one foot now since he’s come around the corner.

“You okay, Miss? You sound like you’re dying.” he says to you half jokingly, smiling crookedly at you.

“I-I’m fine, tha-thanks Mr Holland.” you stammer back, immediately face palming and turning away from him, but he’s just laughing at you. “I was hyperventilating because I saw you, even more suave and gorgeous in person.” You say as an attempt to recover, and he seems flattered.

“A fan then. Nice to meet you, now let's shop because this place closes early on Sundays. '' he laughs and swoops up your basket that you’d forgotten about and left strewn across the aisle. 

You follow wherever he walks, watching the way his calves tense when he leans up to the top shelves, the way his arse clenches when he’s deep in thought, the way he smiles at you like a newly rehomed puppy whenever you compliment him or try to be humorous.

Towards the end of your shop, you haul him to the alcohol aisle and pile spirits and mixers into your basket by the gallon. “Game recognises game. Wanna get pissed and watch the stars?” He asks, examining a strawberry vodka that you threw into your basket that just so happened to be mainly alcohol with only a couple of essential food items.

You’re more astounded and taken aback than you can ever remember being, but with one look at his beautiful face you agree with a little too much fervour, subsequently knocking your hair free from its bun and making Tom laugh again. You get the urge to elbow him but withhold in order to preserve this new friendship. While you pay, Tom texts his brother who parks outside and collects the shopping from Tom, but not without warning you that he can be a little tactile. You brush him off with a smile and lead Tom back to your apartment.

He insists on carrying all of your shopping bags into your building and convinces you to take the lift up to your flat, wherein you dump everything but three bottles of alcohol before he’s dragging you up the roof and unscrewing a bottle of echo before you even have the door open.

He collapses through the door and out into the fresh air, taking your hand in order for you to follow suit, though a little more gracefully. He passes you the wine and finds a dry piece of roof, upon which he places his jacket down and crashes onto it.

“How come you’re not treating me like a celebrity?” He asks, pulling you down to sit beside him. You think for a moment and eventually shrug, your eyes trailing back to the sky.

“Because you don’t act like a celebrity I suppose.” You respond, taking another swig from the dreadful bottle of wine. “You act like a normal guy, doing grocery shopping, helping me shop, bringing a minging fan such as myself back to my flat and insisting on drinking with me. You act like a nicer version of every other lad our age.”

He leans over you, engulfing you in a hug and grabbing for the vodka and coke. “I think we’re going to be very good friends.”

The next morning, you find the two of you hungover and fully dressed on top of your bed, glass liqueur and wine bottles decorating your floor. All you remember is going shopping, meeting Tom, and getting incredibly drunk while stargazing. Too drunk to viably do anything besides sleep and throw up, the latter of which you hope to god did not happen.

Tom stirs soon after and just hugs your stomach while groaning and rubbing his head, complaining that he’s never going to drink again - which you know will last approximately twelve hours.

You proceed to eat a make-do breakfast, followed by a heavy dose of paracetamol before Tom walks you to his house. He helps you up the step and just shouts, “this is my new best friend, we’ll be in my room!” 

You see his family's scepticism from down the hall, but Tom doesn’t seem bothered about them or calling you his new best friend, and that's how it all begins.

──⭒─⭑─⭒──

“Lunch!” Comes Sam’s voice from outside the door, snapping you out of your reverie, followed by a click and some footsteps. He sits down beside you on the bed, stroking your hair. He doesn’t need to ask if you’re okay or not, he’s just exceptional at reading people, and he really genuinely cares about everyone. He sits you up and hands you a plate with the kindest smile. You don’t need to tell him how you feel, he can tell that you’re confused and tired and in love with his brother - that happened fast.

“They’re locked in the dining room with Harrison. Honestly, forget about them, my brothers are complete dickheads.” He says, sliding you a plate.

“Trust me, I know. They’re worse than that, I think that's why I love you and your family so much.” You sigh deeply, a tear forming in your eye as you rest your head against Sam’s shoulder and he wraps his spare arm around you. He’s a friend to you, one that isn’t messing with your feelings.

A rap on the door breaks your and Sam's discussion, and Tom enters with his back hunched and frowning. “Hug?” Is all he says. Maybe it's best if you don’t discuss it and go back to normal with both your Tom and Harry, maybe the intensity will die down and you’ll be able to go five minutes without each other.

“Hug.” You say, clambering your way off Tom’s bed and subsequently melting into his grip. He hugs you tighter than ever before, borderline crushing your shoulders and temporarily preventing you from breathing, but hearing the steady thrum of his heartbeat inside his chest is enough, feeling his chest and arm muscles tense and release around you makes you forget what this was all about, it just makes you crave his smell to be all over you, makes you crave his kisses on every inch of your body and not just your cheeks; being this close to him makes you crave the parts of him that you’ve been denied, flaws included.

“I’m gonna leave before something worse starts, catch you downstairs baby.” Sam says, collecting your plates and leaving you chuckling into Tom's chest, still reluctant to let go of him, and he seemed to feel the same. You tilt your head up a little so you’re at the perfect angle to examine every feature of Tom’s face - everything from a tiny part of his face that he missed while shaving, the twinkles of his eyes, his decidedly haywire eyebrows. You lose track of the time that you remain in his grip, but it feels right, with this being quite probably the longest you’ve gone without speaking and your first form of disagreement.

“I love you baby.” He murmurs, squeezing you momentarily tighter before holding you at arm's length. Baby, the nickname that all the Hollands and Harrison insist on calling you, but it ignites a raging fire of longing in your veins whenever Tom says it, especially when it follows those three words.

“You too, T” You reply with a faint hint of sadness tugging at your heart, so you jump up when his back is turned and scruff his hair. “Piggyback please.”

Tom proceeds to give you a purposefully bumpy piggyback down the stairs and out to his garden, where the other three are huddled suspiciously close around a collection of golf clubs. You climb down from Tom’s back and glance up at the winter sunshine, making Tom look borderline ethereal with his smile illuminated by Sol, Norse Goddess of sunlight. He looks perfect, and that's what kills you, you wouldn’t deserve that level of perfection anyway.

You waste the afternoon away by playing back garden golf with a twist, if you miss three shots in a row then you take a shot, it does not end well. The boys swiftly get too competitive and have to drink, leaving you the only sober one between four tipsy lads in their early twenties, and their level of intoxication makes it easier for you to continually beat them.

Early evening comes by, and Harrison seems on edge, making him run upstairs to the attic to answer a phone call, no doubt from his girlfriend. The four of you watch him from the garden - his sighs turn to yells, and his yells soon turn to crying into a pillow.

“Who’s turn is it?” Tom asks, and you raise your hand. You turn to take one last look at the three brothers, all with the same sad smiles and fretful eyes, and you run up all the stairs to the attic where Harrison is now just standing blankly, staring at a wall. Instead of asking or making him talk, you do what Sam did for you, just hug him.

──⭒─⭑─⭒──

You wake up in Tom’s arms after a long nap on his sofa post-golf, the other three boys asleep on the sofa beside yours. You smile at the sight, gently nudging Tom awake despite your not wanting to stir him. He looks so peaceful when he sleeps despite his snores. His eyelashes always flutter and his nose twitches while his hair creates all sorts of patterns on the pillows he lies upon.

“Let’s go to the roof, you grab the wine.” you say, watching his perfect brown eyes open and a smile instantly grace his lips upon the sight of you. 

You grab some blankets and make your way to the second floor bathroom window where you leave the window propped open for Tom. Just outside is a patch of flat roof that permits the two of you to sit or lie there, stargazing and getting drunk, you’ve even fallen asleep there once or twice, not to mention the mildly illegal substances that you’ve smuggled in.

Tom arrives minutes after you just as night is properly settling in. The stars twinkle in the sky as far as the eye can see, certain stars shining brighter than others and those are the ones that you and Tom have studied over the past year.

“Nigel’s on fire tonight!” He exclaims, pointing towards a star just south-west of Sirius. You stifle a giggle, looking at Tom who passes you a bottle of nice red wine, a rarity for the two of you. 

“It's Rigel and you know it.” You return, laying your head on his broad shoulders. He lies his head atop yours, placing kisses to your hairline. You involuntarily let out the faintest hum of agreement, turning your focus away from the longing that’s filling every pore of your body and returning it to the stars which you worship so profusely. You take a swig of wine, handing your bottle back to Tom who just places it down and turns to you.

He looks solemn, business like, this is a Tom that you’re not a fan of at all. “What Sam said earlier…” He starts, but you turn away from his gaze to trace the whole Canis Major constellation with your eyes, focusing on Sirius to will yourself away from crying. Just the thought of what Sam said being true makes you simultaneously joyful and sullen, it makes you want to reach for the stars and cry, but most of all, it just makes you sick, and you know it's not the wine talking.

“Don’t say it, Tom.” You begin. “Don’t you dare start to talk to me about that when I’ve been so painfully in love with you since the moment we met, don’t act like you can brush off what he said as a joke, because if you don’t want me then maybe Harry does.” 

You know it’s wrong to be saying all of this, so wrong, but all of a sudden, your mouth stops doing what your brain tells it to, and your heart takes over. 

“God. And for a second there I had hope as well, maybe that's the worst part. Or maybe the worst part is that we haven't been able to spend a second apart, and the only time we did was when you were too embarrassed to follow me after Sam had a slip of the tongue. You can’t blame your brothers, Tom, the same way that I can't blame the alignment of stars and planets for us never being together when it’s my fault for not being enough. But none of that even scrapes the level of longing I have for you when you kiss my cheeks, when you hug me, when we play fight, when we sleep together, when you just do something as simple as calling me baby. I can’t talk about this anymore, so leave or tell me to go, or you can stay here and we really can act like this never happened.”

Unsurprisingly, he chooses the latter, but there’s a certain rigidity and tension in his movements, made worse by the dark cloud looming over the two of you after your unladylike outburst. You want to apologise, go back in time and take it all away, but you surrender in the only way you can, you cry. Just a single tear cascading your cheek before Tom wipes it away and lays his pinky finger just over yours on the roof, pressing down a little to let you know that it's okay and he doesn’t love you any less, at least that’s how you interpret it .

You remain on the roof, unmoving, side by side, staring at the stars for what feels like hours. You finish the wine in silence, barely brushing each other’s fingers with every touch and too full of scepticism and fear to meet each other's eyes despite how much you crave getting lost in Tom’s very own chocolate rivers.

It's getting late now, really late, and no doubt the boys are all awake inside and curious as to where the two of you are hidden, no doubt assuming that you’re up to something forbidden. You dare to turn your neck and look at tom, only to see him staring at you longingly, his lips slightly parted and his cheeks tinted rosy, and that’s not just from the cold night air

You smile in spite of yourself, but it's a shy smile, one full of uncertainty, but nonetheless you take one deep breath, your eyes fluttering shut, and you turn to face him again, only to find his eyes still trained on you.

In a sudden leap of faith, you reach your arm across his body to grasp the side of his stomach and you turn him full bodily facing you. The stars reflect in his eyes, dancing around and twinkling, almost as though they’re cheering you on, so you do it. You tilt your face slightly and lean towards Tom, capturing his lips in the most intense kiss of your life. His hands grip your waist and pull you closer to him, chest to chest so that you can feel the gradual synchronisation of your racing hearts. He only has to nudge your lower lip with his tongue for half a second before he’s granted an enthused access. His tongue sweeps your mouth, dancing with your own in a fight - not of dominance, but of passion. 

Your kiss extends and passes through so many emotions and the pressure and urgency of it changes so often that it's hard to keep track. Lust switches to desperation, then do admiration and candour before returning to a long denied flame of passion, and finally, love. The way his lips massage your own is magical, the way he tastes fills your senses with a satisfaction that gets swiftly replaced with a yearning for more, the way he loves you drives you crazy and relights the longing that you feel in his arms.

His lips slow down and apply less pressure to yours, allowing the two of you to gasp for air however subtly it may be, but only for a second before he kisses you one final time, filled with nothing but a deep and unrequited adoration, until you told him, and it became true.

You stay perfectly still while gathering your bearings and breath, your nose nudging Tom’s and your clammy foreheads pressed together. You daren’t open your eyes for a while, not until his mouth gently ghosts over yours in what can be described as nothing less than an exchange of breath. Now you know what he tastes like, you never want to stop tasting him.

Before you can even open your eyes though, you hear a round of applause and cheers from down below. You look at Tom with terror etched on your every feature until he squeezes your waist a little tighter, and just that gesture screams trust me. So you do. You look down to the garden to find Tom's parents, Sam, Harry, Paddy, and Harrison all applauding the two of you - even Tessa is there, barking and howling at you.

You let another tear escape while a burning blush prickles at your cheeks and ears. You move your hand from Tom's waist to his shirt and pull him closer, one final kiss before you settle your head in his chest.

“You really love me then?” He asks incredulously, though part of you can tell that he’s joking. You nod your head and hear his heartbeat increase in his chest.

“I’m in love with you too, since the day I first laid eyes on you.” he whispers, holding you as close to him as possible. You don’t even need to look around to know that the stars are twinkling in their own form of applause for the two of you, and your instincts tell you that both Harrison and Mrs Holland are both probably crying while the others pretend to be sickened by you, but they’re secretly happy you got together.

“Not just friends?” You ask tiredly. 

“Never just friends. I love you, I promise.” You smile at his words

“I love you, T.”

[opal-nite]

delicate; b.barnes

chapter three - “penny for your thoughts”

delicate masterlist

word count: 1.5k

synopsis: reader runs into a familiar face at the lake near her quarters in wakanda and they get to know each other a bit (kinda meet cute)

pairings: bucky barnes x fem!reader

[A/N]: not my photo

The sunrise in Wakanda was one of the most marvelous things (Y/N) had ever seen. It was truly divine. Magnificent shades of burnt orange and gold bled through the boundless canvas of clouds. The sun, rich and saturated, was the epicenter of these vivacious gradients. It was almost as though Odin himself was painting the sky.

Her windows, encompassing the space of an entire wall, opened her room effortlessly. They led directly to the outskirts of a small lake that perfectly reflected the sunrise. It almost felt like a vacation. Or a dream, whichever came first.

She had slept wonderfully, but woke up early all the same. The beginning of her morning consisted entirely of sitting right outside her room staring at the ascending sun. She supposed she could've stayed there all day as Shuri told her they wouldn't start working until tomorrow; something about settling in and adjusting. Although she thoroughly enjoyed her quiet, warm morning, wasting the whole day cramped up near and inside her room would be a very poor choice.

There's so much here, I might as well enjoy my mini vacation.

She slipped on her shoes, closed the glass door, and made her way to the very lake she was admiring so dearly. She sat at the edge of the lake, letting the smooth sound of the flowing water fill the air around her. It was so quiet, secluded. She was alone; it was lovely. Tranquile even. Being by herself brought a strange sort of comfort, like she was safe and-

"Hello."

She turned around, still sitting. "Oh. Hi Jame- I mean... Bucky."

He smiled, and gave a ghost of a laugh. "Thanks."

"Did you need something? Is everything okay?"

"Everything's fine, it's good. I was just looking around. This place is beautiful."

"Tell me about it," she returned his smile. "I keep thinking like I'm on a vacation or something. It doesn't feel like I'm supposed to work tomorrow."

Bucky nodded his head in agreement. "If I was gonna be... fixed somewhere, I'm glad it's here."

"Yeah, no one's gonna bother us here. Except maybe Shuri when she shows you how much smarter she is than you."

"Kid's a genius," he chuckled. "I've only talked to her a bit and she's smarter than I'll ever be."

At this point he was still standing, his hands clasped politely in front of him. He was just standing next to (Y/N)’s sitting figure. It wasn't a problem until an awkward silence settled over them. She wasn't quite sure what to say.

She wasn't the best with people. She knew exactly how the brain worked and she knew how to analyze behavior, and when it came to her job she knew the right things to say at the right times. But her job has rules; if she's talking with someone, she's treating them. When doing so, there are specific sets of clinical terminology. There were guidelines to follow, scripts to recite. Talking to patients in a work setting was analytical and made sense. Talking to regular people was a bit difficult. There was so much grey area. Bucky was going to be a patient, but right then, in that moment, he was just another person.

"You can sit if you want," she offered, patting the spot next to her. "I feel weird, it seems like I'm making you stand."

He gingerly accepted such an offer. He sat next to her, but not too close. The respectful distance gave her comfort.

We both have our own space.

"Hey, can I say something?" he asked.

"Mhm."

"I just wanted to thank you, ya know, for coming all the way here. Steve told me about the whole situation - you and Sharon and everything. I'm just really grateful. You probably have a whole life of your own back home, but it means a lot that you came here to help out. I know it's not exactly easy."

Heartfelt. If she had to describe it in one word that's what it would be. It almost surprised her.

"Oh you don't have to thank me!" she sounded deflective. "It's my job. I'm just glad we have a chance to provide you with treatment after all the pain you've been through."

Was that too personal?

"I mean, after all this time, I think you're pretty deserving of a reprieve."

"Have you read my file?" he asked, a little quieter than before. He was staring intently at the lake in front of him.

(Y/N) rubbed the back of her neck. "Yeah, I did."

"Sorry."

"Why are you sorry?"

"That you had to read it. I know it's a lot."

He sounded guilty, like somehow what happened to him was his fault.

"That's alright," she said almost too quickly. "I've gone through plenty of abuse and trauma cases. To be fair, none of them are quite like yours, but I'm not in completely foreign waters here."

"Oh, I don't doubt it. I've heard you're more than highly qualified. It's just a lot of bad stuff."

"I can handle bad stuff," she replied, reassuringly. To her, it sounded more factual than reassuring. Unbeknownst to her, it gave Bucky some sort of comfort. Like he was in good hands.

Another awkward silence settled over them. Her eyes remained on the body of water in front of her; she wasn't sure what to say. Casual conversation was not her forte, and Bucky seemed rather shy himself. She felt responsible for any conversation that should take place, but to be fair, he wasn't talking either.

It was then when she subtly aimed her gaze towards him, getting a thorough impression of his features. He was, in all honesty, quite handsome. Objectively speaking of course. He was sharp features and soft edges at once, if you could consider that possible. And the bluest blue eyes she'd ever seen were luminescent in the direct sunlight. She reminded herself not to stare, and tore her line of vision away from the man next to her.

In lieu of this, she closed her eyes, leaned back on the palms of her hands, and relished in the warmth of the Wakandan sun. This lasted a few moments before she once again realized that not a word had been passed between them. She wondered what he was thinking about.

"Penny for your thoughts?" she asked softly.

"Hm?"

"You look pensive."

"'M just thinkin'"

"Well, that much I could tell," she snickered.

He flashed a bashful smile. "I'm just tryin' to grasp the fact that I'm actually here. Y'know, safe. Ready to be helped. It's been a while. I keep having to remind myself that it's real."

Makes sense. He probably thinks that any minute, this seemingly secure safe haven is going to be ripped out from under him. Like it was all a rouze and he'll have to return to pain and anguish.

"It's definitely real...well, last time I checked anyway. But who knows? Maybe we're in an alternate reality and any moment we'll see a woman in a red dress," she joked, trying to lighten his mood and simultaneously referencing The Matrix.

It worked. He laughed; a soft gentle chuckle, but a laugh all the same.

"Woman in a red dress?" he asked through a grin.

"Oh, you probably haven't seen The Matrix, have you?"

His face scrunched up in endearing confusion. "No...?"

She adamantly ignored when the word adorable entered her mind when she saw his expression. "It's a movie, a classic really. You'll have to see it at some point or I'll feel like an idiot for referencing it."

"Oh God," he shook his head, "I haven't seen a movie in... ages."

"I think that's a crime in and of itself. They've gotten infintely better than they were in the forties, I can promise you that."

"I got a lot to catch up on, don't I?"

"Maybe a little. But don't worry about it. I'll make you a list!"

"Man, didn't think I'd have homework," he quipped, a meek attempt at a joke.

It made her smile. There's some personality! She showed some of her own in return.

"Man, I didn't think I'd ever meet someone who doesn't like movies of all things. One of the best things ever created by mankind!"

He laughed and threw his hands up in mock surrender. "I never said that! I don't know if I deserve such slander."

What a wonderful laugh.

"Watch every movie on my list and I'll clear your name," she beamed.

He feigned annoyance. "Fine. You drive a hard bargain, Ms. (Y/L/N)."

"That's Dr. (Y/L/N), actually."

Before he could question whether or not he made a mistake, she continued. "I'm totally messing with you. (Y/N) is more than just fine. Dr. (Y/L/N) sounds too much like someone's pretending that I'm my dad anyway."

"Okay then," he smiled, "(Y/N).”

[redspacewriter]

According to my ten step plan, I shouldn’t be on here at the moment. I should be working on Finals. But, you guys seriously warmed my heart. Thank you for tagging @sunshinejihyun , @kiki-the-creator and @kittidot.

@mchamster :: I know you took a break from tumblr, I’m hoping that the stars would bring ya back. I miss your humor and company.

@ravenadottir :: Cuzzo, let’s be really, family and all, I am and will always be your biggest fan (ya can argue, but I ain’t listening). You’ve been so kind to me and have been there for me throughout a lot situations.

@sunshinejihyun :: Bryn-Bryn, let’s be real. I’m beyond honored that you’d take that leap from anon to be the frickin best human in the world to grace me with your friendship. Let’s not forget that your writing is awesome.

@kittidot :: Kitti, let’s be real. I was a hermit for a period of time liking your works. Buried Love make my love for the sci-go go off the rails especially because you fricking made it. If that’s not talent. I dunno.

@mrsgaryrennell :: Karen! Bro, my fellow yodito candle maker. Even though we don’t call each other tons like the early days, I love seeing and hearing your takes on all things. Let’s be real your writing is amazing. Remember how I unknowing be-friended as I was secretly fanning over the author of what ended up being your writing.

@ariendiel :: I feel like we haven’t interacted lately and that’s my fault. But I won’t forget how awesome you are and how talented you are. You don’t think I’ve noticed but your writing I phenomenal. C’mon you converted me to a Noah stan at one point. I did his whole route.

@longbobmckenzie :: I really don’t know you much, but I know I love your posts, recommendations and writing.

@americangrunge :: broooooo, you’re writing man, keeps me up at night. Like I literally spend my nights re-reading your works. I bet you get tired of my comments too.

@lucas-koh :: now, I’m saying this from the depths of my heart, I blame you for resurrecting my love for the surgical intern that is Bryce alábela. Stitched is chefs kiss. Let’s not even begin with all your other writing.

@bellarxse :: let’s get real, hadn’t you created a post about thinking about re-writing about season 3, I doubt I would’ve come out of my cave to speak with you or anyone. Your works are amazing. Your season 3 remake leaves clutching my bed frame shaking it in suspense anxiety you name it.

@lilithlibrxa :: CJ, bro, your support and all your love has been all I ever needed. Playing Among Us with you is hilarious. I swear being an Imposter is hard with you because I’m like that’s my friend I can’t kill them. But I’m also competitive so I do it anyway.

@ajs-wife :: I don’t think thank you is enough. You message me randomly and ignore small talk and that makes me beyond happy. I love our random talks, they’re quite soothing.

@crvsh-culture :: Hands down, you’re the bestest person I’ve ever met. Your work speaks for itself (here’s to hoping I’m referring to the Nicky fic writer, if not, awkward). You’re frickin’ so supportive.

@bubblybabynailpolish :: I may not always be the best at initiating conversation, but your works always make me smile.

@kiki-the-creator :: you may say that we don’t know each other, but I’ve noticed you around. He he, didn’t mean it to sound creepy. I think you’re pretty dope and I always appreciate your support especially the times you’ve helped me get out of a writing rut or numbers headache.

@nerdferatum :: I’m just gonna go ahead and say it you’re frickin talented. Your art is wonderful. You’re fricking magnificent.

@smaiihands :: what is there to say, your art is fricking out do this world. You may think we’ve forgotten but hell yeah I’m waiting for the comic you’ve been working on. Honestly fusebox should just hire ya.

@garyrennell :: girl you were my inspiration for all of my edits. You’re the queen of moodboards and I will forever thank you for being sweet and kind to me.

@imaginelovelink :: shall I even explain this. You’ve honestly taken your free time to indulge my fantasies. Like all my lovelink materia comes from you.

@theclowneryqueen :: I love seeing your post on my dash, they’ve got the best reactions.

@therealityofthematteris :: I love your post and your writing is just chefs kiss.

@lahelakoh :: I’ve only just began interacting but that won’t stop me from thanking you for the tiers and for taking your time to indulge me on my shiznit.

@cherry-parker :: can we talk about the fact that you’ve been my companion for multiple fandoms. The fact that I can talk normal human stuff like boba with you reminds how sweet you are even when you tempt me with angels.