#Ever thought about that. Well now it's even more untrue

[miyagi-hokarate]

Crying. I've been under the belief/headcanon/assumption that Sam was born on October 14th of 2001 (thus making her older than Robby, Miguel, etc.), but she isn't — Sam was born 2002. Robby's older than her by 8 months. Sam is younger than like Every one of her friends. Why couldn't Cobra Kai let her be the eldest of her peers. They hate women

[vanessagillings]

I’m posting the ever-so-rare photo of myself alongside one of my characters based on my childhood because today is World Autism Acceptance Day, and I wanted to show my little corner of the internet who this particular autistic person is:  

I was officially diagnosed in February, at age 38 (I’m now 39). A lot of people thought I couldn’t be autistic.  Some people who know me in real life still don’t.  And until around 10 years ago, I didn’t think I could be either, because I was nothing like the stereotype media portrays. I was told that autistics lacked empathy (untrue), and never played make-believe (also often untrue) and only enjoyed STEM.  I was — and am — an empathetic artist -- and make believe?  I can spend days sketching finely bedecked bears brewing tea or carefully choosing the right words to weave tapestries of fiction — though perhaps my hyper focus was a bit of a red flag.  Even so, how could autism describe me?  I was a good student.  I got straight A's. I didn’t act out in class.  I can make eye contact…if I must.  And lots of girls hate having their hair brushed with an unholy passion, right?  Clearly I swim in sarcasm like a fish, so autism couldn't be why I was so anxious all the time, could it?

If someone had told me when I was younger what autism ACTUALLY is — instead of the nonsense I’d seen on screens — I would have seen myself in it.  I didn’t hear that autistics have sensory issues until I was in my mid-twenties, which is when I first began to really research autism symptoms, and I had almost all of them:  sensitivity to light, smells, fabrics, temperatures, textures, and certain touches, all of which make me feel anxious, I fidget (stim), I never know what the hell to do with my hands or where to look, I talk too little or too much, I have special interests, I have entire animated movies memorized shot-by-shot and can remember the first time and place I saw every movie I've ever seen but I often forget what I'm trying to say mid-sentence, I echo movies and tv shows (my husband and I have a whole repertoire of shared echolalias, making up about 20% of our conversations), I was in speech therapy as a kid, I have issues with dysnomia and verbal fluency, I toe-walk, I can't multitask to save my life, I like things just-so, I’m deeply introverted but not shy, I need to recover from all social interaction — even social interaction I enjoy — and I find stupid, every day things like grocery shopping, driving and making appointments overwhelming and intensely stressful, sometimes to the point where I struggle to speak.  It turns out, I am definitely autistic. My results weren't borderline. Not even close. And while these aren’t all of my challenges, and not everyone with these symptoms is autistic, it’s definitely something to look into if you present with all of these things at once. 

So why did it take me so long to get diagnosed? The same bias that exists in media threads through the medical community as well, and because I'm a woman who can discuss the weather while smiling on cue, few people thought I was worth looking into. Even after I was fairly certain I was autistic, receiving an official diagnosis in the US is unnecessarily difficult and expensive, and in my case, completely uncovered by my insurance.  It cost me over $4000, and I could only afford it because my husband makes more money than I do as a freelance illustrator — a job I fell into largely because it didn’t require in-person work; like many autists, I have been chronically underemployed and underpaid, in part due to physical illness in my twenties, which is a topic for another day.  But it shouldn’t be like this.  It shouldn’t be so hard for adults to receive diagnoses and it shouldn’t be so hard for people to see themselves in this condition to begin with due to misinformation and stereotypes. Like many issues in America, these barriers are even higher for marginalized groups with multiple intersectionalities. 

It’s commonly said that if you’ve met one autistic person, you’ve met one autistic person.  This is why it’s called a spectrum, not because there’s a linear progression of severity (someone who appears to have low support needs like myself might need more than it seems, and vice versa), but because every autistic person has their own strengths and weaknesses, challenges and experiences, opinions and needs.  No two people on the spectrum present in the same way.  And that’s a good thing!  No way of being autistic is inherently any better than any other, and even if someone on the spectrum struggles with things I don’t — or can do things I can’t — doesn’t make them more or less deserving of respect and human dignity.

But speaking solely for myself, the more I learn about autism, the happier I am to be autistic.  I struggle to find words and exert fine motor control, but my deep passion and fixation has made me good at art and storytelling anyway.  I find more joy watching dogs and studying leaf shapes on my walks than most people do in an entire day.  More often than not, the barriers I’ve faced weren’t due to my autism directly, but due to society being overly rigid about what it considers a valid way of existing.  My hope in writing this today is that maybe one person will realize that autism isn’t what they thought — and that being different is not the same as being less than. My hope with my fiction is to give autistic children mirrors with which to see themselves, and everyone else windows through which to see us as we actually are.

If you’re interested in learning more about autism or think you might be autistic, too, I recommend the Autism Self Advocacy Network  autisticadvocacy.org and the following books:

What I Mean When I Say I’m Autistic by Annie Kotowicz

We're Not Broken by Eric Garcia

Knowing Why edited by Elizabeth Bartmess

Unmasking Autism by Devon Price, PhD

Loud Hands edited by Julia Bascom

Neurotribes by Steve Silberman

(trigger warning: the last two contain quite a lot of upsetting material involving institutionalized child abuse, but I think it’s important for people to know how often autistic children were — and are — abused simply for being neurodivergent).

Thanks for reading 💛

[miraculousmultifan]

The months following Steve's fight with Billy and the excursion through the Mind Flayer’s tunnels found Steve at a bit of a loss. The animosity between him and Hargrove had only grown exponentially, but it didn’t bother him as much as it used to. Sure, Hargrove sucked ass, and he had definitely taken over as the newest reigning douchebag, but that kind of stuff just didn’t matter to Steve anymore.

So at school, he found himself sitting with Nancy and Jonathan during lunch. It was a bit awkward considering Nancy and Jon were dating, but he didn’t exactly have any other friends, and he really didn't want to sit alone.

It was early February, and Steve was picking at his cafeteria food, barely listening to the conversation Nancy and Jonathan were having. He was lost in his own thoughts, staring into space blankly.

Across the cafeteria, Eddie Munson was jumping onto a table and taunting several different cliques as he went on a long monologue about society and social norms that most students tended to tune out. Steve watched him with a small smile, pushing his food around his tray. Then, Eddie was throwing barbs at Hargrove, Tommy H, and Carol. Steve winced slightly, knowing the words probably applied to him too, but he couldn't help feeling that Eddie wasn’t exactly saying anything untrue about them.

Before he could tear his attention away, Eddie was turning to face him. Steve's eyes widened. He hadn't even said anything! He’d been laying low ever since their last run-in with the Upside Down, just trying to graduate. So why was Eddie putting his attention on him now?

Eddie jumped down from the table and sauntered over to where Steve was sitting, throwing a leg over the bench to straddle the spot next to him. “Harrington.”

Now that Eddie was so close, Steve could see a slight red tint to his eyes, and he relaxed a little. He was just high.

“Hey, Munson,” Steve replied, giving him a weak smile in response.

Most of the attention on Eddie had dispersed, but Steve could still feel the piercing gaze of Hargrove on the side of his face. That jackass just would not leave him alone, even if he was trying to avoid altercations for Max's sake.

Eddie leaned an elbow on the table to hold his head up with his hand. “How's the fall from grace treating you, my liege?”

Steve blinked. “Huh?”

Jonathan leaned over from where he was chatting with Nancy. “He’s calling you a king. Asking about how you're doing after everyone dropped you for Billy.”

Rolling his eyes, Eddie smirked. “With more dramatic flair than that, but yeah, essentially.”

“Oh.” Steve floundered, looking between Nancy and Jon as he tried to think of an answer. “Well, it’s been nice not having as much attention, I guess. Nothing all that interesting has happened to me.”

Nancy hid a snort behind her hand, turning to bury her face into Jonathan’s shoulder. Eddie raised a curious eyebrow but didn’t comment on her reaction.

“Surely the life of a king has to have some frivolities. Raging parties, swooning ladies, the like…”

Steve scrunched his nose. “Nah, man. My parents cut off my allowance after my last concussion, so I don’t exactly have the funds for that kind of thing anymore.” He didn’t know why he was confiding that kind of information in Eddie, but it wasn’t like he cared that much about what people thought of him anymore. Eddie could spread it around if he really wanted to. “I just babysit Nancy and Jon’s little brothers and their friends. I promise it’s nothing interesting.”

Smirking, Eddie tilted his head to the side. “I'm sure you could make anything interesting, Harrington. Especially looking like that.”

Steve blushed bright red from the tips of his ears to the base of his neck. Oh god. Was Eddie flirting with him? “Oh. Um, thank you! I'm sure you're pretty interesting too.”

That seemed to snap Eddie out of whatever weird flirty persona he had let settle over him. “Right. Good talk. I'm gonna go now. Have a good lunch, Steve.”

And then Eddie was gone, back to his table as he ranted at his friends with increasingly frantic gestures. Steve stared after him for a bit, biting his lip and trying to make sense of the feelings stirring in his chest. On the other side of the table, Nancy let out a pointed cough with a smug smirk.

“So…” She started. “Wanna tell us what that was all about?”

Steve furrowed his eyebrows. “You witnessed the exact same thing that I did, Nance. I don't have any insider information.”

Nancy giggled. “No, not that. I’m talking about how you blushed like a little schoolgirl when Eddie called you interesting. You wanna tell us about it?”

Shooting another look at Eddie’s table, Steve started to reply before he noticed that some of Eddie’s friends were looking at him. His eyes widened and he whipped back around. “I have no clue what you're talking about. Jon, back me up here.”

“Sorry, dude.” Jonathan winced with a sheepish shrug. “You were pretty red. I mean he did call you hot, so I guess I get it…”

Steve sighed and let his head drop to the table. “I really don’t appreciate the psychoanalysis, Nance. He came over here, talked to us, called the way I look interesting, and left. Sure, I may have gotten a little red, but he was leaning really close.”

Smirking, Nancy leaned over the table to flick the back of Steve’s head. “You’re wrong about one thing. He didn’t come over to talk to us. He only talked to you. I think he finds you more than just interesting.”

Standing up from the table abruptly, Steve shook his head. “We’re not talking about this. It’s not like it matters that much anyway. He was probably just trying to mess with me. I’ll see you guys later.” Steve grabbed his tray and walked off, trying and failing to stop himself from sneaking a glance at Eddie’s table.

Much to Steve’s surprise, Eddie was looking right back at him. When their eyes met, he smirked and waggled his fingers at Steve in a wave. Steve blushed, his eyes wide, and he stumbled, almost bumping into another student in the process.

[k1ngpin42]

𝕀𝕥 𝕙𝕦𝕣𝕥𝕤 𝕥𝕠 𝕓𝕖 𝕤𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘, 𝕀𝕥'𝕤 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕤𝕖 𝕥𝕠 𝕓𝕖 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕪𝕠𝕦

✨Popular Abby x quiet reader✨

I’m sorry I really yapped on at the start, I used to be a wp writer so it’s kinda engraved in my thought process sorry, (I'll put the keep reading part where it get's interesting.) Smut will be in bold tho if u don’t wanna do allat 🤪

MINORS DON’T INTERACT: read at your own risk but there will be mature themes and minors really shouldn’t have Tumblr in the first place. Bare minimum 16+ plsss

——————————————————————————

Warnings: Fisting/fingering (receiving), cunnilingus (receiving and giving), strap on (finally I know- (receiving)), Dominant Abby, provocative sub reader, choking, hickeys, restraints

You had been with the WLFS for almost three months now. You had managed to impress some people during your first month with your shooting skills in addition to stealth combat and how crafty you were. People, specifically Isaac, found you to be an asset. In theory, you were the ideal friend and even partner, however trying to make friends was much more difficult than it should be, especially when the world you lived in was so fucked. You had some, sure, a nice girl called Chloe was your best friend and you had a few others you were close with. It didn’t help that you were known for never going to events and it also didn’t help that one person in particular liked to gloat about it.

Abby Anderson, Isaacs favourite, built like a fucking war hero with muscles bigger than most men and beauty to match them. She was very picky with who she went on patrol with. It was Manny and Owen or Owen or Manny, no outsiders ever. You had asked to join once on a mission you knew you could have been very helpful in, but Abby denied it faster than she could ask your own name. After that, she went out of her way to make sure the embarrassment really hit, asking you to get their weapons for them, making sure Isaac assigned you where you would see her coming back and fourth from the mission she had so confidently denied you from.

You were in the library, if you could call it that. It was really just an old locker room which now had a bunch of books in it, mostly uninteresting. Everyone knows the good shit had to get smuggled in, but you were right out of trading supplies. It’s not like you got many items of value in the first place, everyone else in your patrol groups would take the majority of the rewards, and you were too much of a people pleaser to say anything.

Chloe walks in and your smile widens, your shoulders dropping as you let out a breath with all your tension inside it. Holy fuck, you didn’t realise how tense you were until now. 

“Chloe!” You exclaim with a smile, waving at her. She smiles back.

“Hey…you alright?” Chloe probed. You nod.

“Mmm, yeah just…got some stuff on my mind.”

“Abby giving you trouble again?”

“God, when is she not? It doesn’t bother me though, I’ve learnt to just tune their whole group out by now.”

“Didn’t she take your clothes from the laundry and swap them with Owens?”

“…I’d…rather not talk about that.” You say quickly, putting a dull copy of some fuckin book you were reading back on the shelf.

“To be honest, you rocked his ‘chill-dad-with-no-taste’ look. At least in my opinion.” Chloe declares with a smile. You groan. 

“Thanks.” You stand up, stretching and cracking your knuckles. 

“She put a whole chilli in your burrito.” Chloe reminded you, not letting the subject go.

“I love spicy food.” You explain, nonchalantly. She smiles, rolling her eyes playfully.

“You hate spicy food.”

“Untrue, I love spicy food, spicy food just doesn’t love me.” Chloe sighs.

“…Okay.”

“She also-“

“I get it. Abby gets off on my embarrassment, it’s great.” You sigh with irritation. She nods sympathetically. 

“Well, it’s not just Abby, Mel and Owen are also dicks.”

“Yeah, they are.” Chloes eyebrows furrow and a familiar look touches her ordinarily soft features.

“You want to say something, right?”

“I- heard Isaac assigned you with Abby, Mel, Manny and Cole to secure a shipping zone near the old station.” You laugh loudly and her face remains the same, worrying you mildly. 

“Yeah, sure he did, now what’s the news?” You ask again. She says your name quietly, almost like a warning. Your smile drops. “What…?”

“I had to grab a radio from the old apartment and I overheard Isaac and Abby talking.”

“Jesus, Chloe.”

“No, no I didn’t go up I swear.”

“You heard them from all the way downstairs?” She rolls her eyes.

“They were arguing.”

“Oh great, Abby was arguing with Isaac, now I know this really is a joke.”

“It’s not a joke, okay? Abby was arguing because she didn’t want to be assigned with you. Isaac said you’re more agile and equipped for stealth than the others. He said he’s pairing you with Abby.”

 You’re frozen. Fucking frozen in time and space.

“No…”

“Hey, hey, hey you’re gonna be just fine.” 

“Oh my god…” You gasp.

“She’s friends with three thirds of the WLFS in here, if they all like her she’s gotta have some good qualities?” Chloe attempts.

“I don’t love how unconfident about that you sounded. Fuck I can’t fucking believe this.”

“You said you didn’t mind her now though, right?”

“Well that was a fucking lie wasn’t it!” You say, and you both burst out laughing.

“Oh fuck I’m so gonna have my head bashed against a wall aren’t I?”

“Uh…may your death be swift?” You sigh.

“Thank you.”

The door opens harshly, making an echoey bang as it hits the wall. You and Chloe both whip your head around to see Abby, standing there in all her glory. You roll your eyes.

“We’re in a library asshole, you probably don’t come in here much, or know how to read- for that matter, but you’re typically meant to be quiet in these-“ “Ah, if it isn’t the two nerdiest people left on the planet.”

“Speak of the devil.” Chloe whispers. Abby smirks, looking into your eyes.

“Ah, you were talking about me? No surprise there-“

“Fuck you.”

“Mmm, I bet you’d like that too.” Her words shock you and you give Chloe a look through the side of your eye. She returns this by giving you a little shrug of confusion.

“I’m here to set up ground rules. If you even want to step one of your dainty little feet in the direction of me or my friends, you’d do your best to follow it, okay?”

“Good, I’ve got some boundaries I’d like to set up as w-“

“Shut the fuck up.” Abby interrupts. You roll your eyes.

“Okay first of all, don’t talk unless it’s strictly about the mission or someone asks you a question. Second of all, don’t ask me why, if I tell you to do something do it and last of all don’t fuck things up. I can add more rules as I see fit as well.” Abby states.

“You’re a fucking psychopath.” You mutter to yourself and Abby smiles widely. You hug Chloe tightly before you leave, placing a hand on her pale face.

“You’re gonna be fine.” She mouths. You nod and turn to follow Abby out the hallway in silence for some time until she randomly stops in her tracks. She clears her throat.

“Go get our weapons.” You open your mouth to object, but you can’t be fucked wasting words on her. You don’t reply before heading in to the armoury. 

“I need Abby’s usual, Manny’s usual and I’ll take a pistol and a silenced literally anything, please.” The man looks at you a little suspiciously, but nods, walking over to the weapon wall. 

“Why isn’t Abby just getting them herself?” He asks, not in an overly probing way. 

“She prefers me to do stuff for her.” You explain. “Oh, cute.” He says, handing you the things. You look at him, bitterly.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, I thought you meant you were…”

“Nope. Do you have any daggers?”

“Daggers…? What century is this? BC?”

“Fine, knifes, then?”

“Here.” He says, handing you a rather average looking metal blade. You sigh. 

“Thanks…”

“The ammos on the side of that crate over there.” You nod, giving him a fond expression.

“Thanks.” You say as a rather devious thought comes to mind. You grab a box of Abbys ammo and make your way to the shooting range. As swift as you can, you turn it on and hit the bullseye over and over until there’s just over 10 bullets left in the packet.

“Hmm…” You murmer, looking down at the gun. “Fuck it.” You say, shooting four more bullets. You quickly make your way back to Abby, quickly putting your ammo and weapons in your bag. 

“Took you long enough.” She says simply, trying not to laugh at all the shit you’re holding. You roll your eyes.

“You try carrying all of it then.”

“Are you implying I’m stronger than you?” She teases. You continue to glare at her.

“Is the air thin in here?” You question, and Abby looks confused, opening her mouth to retort but you stop her.

“Or is it just the size of your ego making it hard to fucking breathe.” You say. She shrugs, still smirking smugly. 

“Who could know?”

You and Abby head over to the wagon and Mel immediately stands up. You sigh.

“Fuck me.” You murmer, and through the side of your eye you see Abby give you a look of what could be mistaken as sympathy, if that girl possessed the capacity for that emotion. 

“It’s you.” Mel says, as if the words are physically hurting her to say. You sigh, forcing a fake smile.

“Yep, hey Mel.”  Alice runs over to you, leaning her legs against you and kissing you all over. 

“Hi beautiful girl.” You utter quietly as you stroke your fingers through her fur. Abby watches you intently, fighting a smile at how affectionate you were. Mel looked less than impressed.

“Come on Alice, here.” She beckoned. You roll your eyes as Alice hesitantly returns to her place beside Mel. Owen sits down aggressively, crossing his arms and looking away from you. 

What the fuck is with these people? They don’t even know you. Manny sit’s next to the driver and you sigh as you sit beside Owen. He was a repulsive guy, childish, looked weird, smelt weird and his only personality trait was his relationship with Mel that everyone was so obsessed with. ‘The couple,’ you had heard them be referred to as. So fucking dramatic.

“Did you hear that Brenda’s sister snuck in to that party last night, drank half the liquor and then tried to kiss like 10 guys there?” Abby laughs. Mel shrugged.

“Owen and I were busy, so no.” She says, and they both smirk. Gag.

“You should have seen Manny’s moves, he did a full flip, I wish I could have recorded it.”

“Oh yeah Aidan told me! What a guy.” Owen remarks, placing his hand in Mels.

“Abby how have you been sleeping these days?” Mel questions. This catches your attention but Abby just dismissively shakes her head.

“Fine.” She said, signalling at you with her head. You would rather be in a room of clickers right now.

“Hey, um…where do you sit?” Mel asks you. You look at her, a little surprised. 

“Um…what?”

“Well I never see you, so.”

“Oh…I sit with Chloe, Sophie…sometimes Beatrice and Whitney too.” Her expressions remain unchanged and the others look at each other, clearly not familiar with those names or people. 

“I’ve…heard of Whitney, I think. She plays the games right?” Abby asked. You glare at her. 

“Yeah.” You say simply.

When the wagon finally arrived and you handed out the weapons to everyone, Abby immediately started assigning roles.

“Okay so um, Cole will stay here and scout the perimeter, guard the exits and the truck, I’ll go with Manny to take out whoever, Owen you can go with Mel to get the supplies.”

“Um okay what am I supposed to do?” You practically spit. She sighs.

“Go with Owen and Mel then I don’t care.”

“Hey fuck that she’s not going with us!” Owen says. Mel hits him playfully.

“Owen..” She says, only pretending to care.

“Isaac assigned me to do stealth take downs because brutes like you have no agility, I’m better off with you.” You tell Abby plainly. She looks at you, annoyed. 

“Fuck it, we’ll all cut through that building and we’ll go from there.” She says, and everyone nods, Owen still looking considerably more irritable than the others. 

“I’m gonna make sure this rooms clear.” Manny says.

“Oh, I’ll go with you-“ Abby starts to say, but he shakes his head. 

“No that’s fine, do you want to go with me?” He asks you. You smile slightly.

“Yes, sure.” You say, feeling quite grateful. You walk through the room and check the benches and cupboard for suppliesf. You find some parts and start using a large item on the edge of a bench to adjust one of your weapons.

“What are you doing?” He asks. You smile cautiously at him.

“I’m refining the scope.” “With just that?”

“Well, yeah.” You explain awkwardly. He chuckles and you turn to face him, confused.

“Well shit, you’re actually smart, huh?”

“Um…I don’t know.” You laugh back. He walks over, examining the weapon more closely. 

“You think you can upgrade one of my weapons?” “Sure, which one?”

“My pistol, the recoil on that is shithouse.” You can’t help but laugh.

“I’m sorry ‘shit house?’” You ask, still laughing. He smiles back.

“It is what I say.” 

“Let me look at it.” He hands you his gun and you examine it closely, getting some tools out of your pack. 

“The hammer spring’s smashed. Here.” You unclip the flashlight from your shirt. 

“Aim the light on that part there.” You instruct, and he nods, watching as you replace it. You look around the room and find a mostly in tact glass bottle. You approach it and line it up on the bench.

“Try it now.” You say, and he nods, shooting the bottle from a safe distance.

“Oh shit, that’s heaps better.”

“It’s no problem.” You say, your face feeling rather hot. He lets out a deep breath.

“I know being put with our group isn’t ideal.” He starts. You groan, feeling a pep talk approaching. 

“They’ll see how good you are.”

“Oh yeah, how? By doing free weapon upgrades?” You mock. He laughs.

“It’s a good start.”

“Did you know Abby put an entire chilli in my food?” He sighs. “She can be…petty.” Manny explains.

“What did I even do?”

“I don’t know, she seems, and don’t tell her I told you this but…obsessed with you. Ever since you wanted to join our patrol that day she made it her whole personality.”

“Ugh, I know right? ‘Look at that loser’ sounds familiar I’m guessing?”

“Um, not really, she talks about you pretty genuinely. It’s more ‘did you hear she slipped past that massive scar base without alerting them? And “did you see what she was wearing?”

“Mmm of course cause she made me wear her crusty ex boyfriends clothes all day. Did you know Mel accused me of sleeping with, quote unquote “her man” when she saw me in those?” Manny wheezes at this comment. 

“They’re quite an intense pair.” He admits. 

You two return to the others and your eyes immediately fan to Abby’s body. She’s wearing a sleeveless black top and she was clearly lifting something heavy because there was a light dusting of sweat all the way up her arms. You could also tell because of her veins. Fuck, her veins. Her veins were so visible. 

God what is wrong with you? No, what is wrong with her? How dare she look so fucking….fuckable? Only to be a genuine dick AND like men? What a waste.

“There’s a lot of them, but if we split into groups we can take them by surprise. Manny, with me.” Abby instructs. You force yourself out of your daydream when Manny taps you on your shoulder.

“Come.” He says, and you follow them out, staying prone in the grass. 

“We’ll need to be stealthy, I can go and you guys can stay here and cover me.” You suggest. Abby scoffs.

“No fucking way.” 

“You’ve already seen me do more-“

“We’re not putting you in danger!” Abby says quickly. She anxiously avoids eye contact.

“Of…the mission, I mean. You’ll compromise it easy.”

“Abs, this girl is resourceful. At the first sign of trouble we’ll be there, but let her do what she’s here for.” Manny tries. Abby rolls her eyes and then look into yours for what feels like an eternity. 

“First. Sign.” She warns. You nod.

“Thank you.” You say, sneaking out towards the group.

“I don’t fucking like this Manny.”

“She’ll be fine.”

“What? That’s not what- ugh…” She says before accepting her defeat and letting the silence win. She watches you the entire time. The way you skilfully pick off the men who are there is like a work of art and your movements are smoother than silk. You enter one of the buildings where Abby and Manny’s vision of your is corrupted. Manny looks over at Abby and is surprised to be witnessing such panic on her face.

“Are you alright Abs?” He asks. She doesn’t reply.

“Abby?”

“Fuck.” She says, before jumping down out of their spot. 

“Abby what the actual fuck-“ He mutters as he climbs down beside her and they scurry into some grass.

“What the fuck are you doing? They’ll see us.” Manny protests. Abbys sighs. 

“Oh yeah? Well if she gets shot in there who will be there to get the stuff?”

“No one’s gonna get anything if they shoot US for getting out of cover, Abs.” One of the men holding a large rifle stops, looking around. 

“Finn?” A woman asks him. He continues looking around, shining his light through the grass.

“I thought I heard something.” The woman nods.

“Keep your guard up.” She tells him. Abby groans.

“How do we get in the building now??” She whisper-shouts. Manny thinks for a moment. 

“I think we need to take them both out.”

“Okay, let’s do it.” They crawl towards the building when, to their dismay, Abby’s foot crunches on some broken glass.

“Fuck-“

“WHAT WAS THAT?” Finn calls, alerting you. You hear several gunshots and consider whether or not you should run towards them. It could be Abby or Manny. No, just stick to your mission, you were almost at the jackpot. Right when you get to the safe you start spinning the dial until you hear Manny’s voice.

“Look out!” More gunshots. They probably had it under control, they’re strong, unstoppable really, and Abby would be enraged if she found out you were right in front of the supplies and went to rescue her instead. 

“Abby?” Manny calls, desperately. That did it, you run behind the next cover and dive into the grass to look for her. A man points his gun at her and you quickly shoot him with your silenced gun, grabbing her arm and pulling her into you. She falls over you, pinning you under her and using her arms as support on the grass on either side of your head. You’re startled, feeling her warm breath on your face, seeing her eyes up close.

“Abby what are you doing here?” You demand once you finally find your words again. 

“I…we’ll talk about it later, where the fuck are my bullets?” Your face goes numb.

“Um…” You say. She practically yells.

“UGHH WHY?”

“Okay well why are you always a dick to me man?? I didn’t expect you to be taking down an entire camp…if you had just trusted me-“

Abby get’s off of you and you sit up. 

“You TOOK my bullets?? Give them back.”

“No.” 

“Give. Them back.”

“I used them okay??” Abby grabs you, pulling you so you’re standing. Your heart races as she does this.

“Fine, you’re coming with me, we’re getting more bullets.”

“I found the safe.” You blurt out. Abby stops dragging you, letting out a deep breath and smiling ever so slightly. 

“Thank god, did you get the supplies?”

“Um…” Abbys groans again at your response.

“And WHY…not?” She asks. Your face flushes crimson.

“I heard you scream.” You admit. You lower your voice to a whisper so quiet that it’s almost inaudible. “I was worried.” You add. Her face softens. 

“Alright, that’s fine, we’ll take them out first and come back to it. Let’s just get these fucking bullets since you feel the need to fuck everything up even though I said before we started-“

“Hey you fucked up too, okay?” Abbys rolls her eyes.

“Irrelevant. Now let’s go.”

You follow her into a room and hear a massive bang sound from behind it, feeling the ground shake as a result. 

“Abby…”

“Fuck, we’re locked in aren’t we?”

“Try the door.” You say. She lets out a huff.

“If this doesn’t open I’m never letting you come with me again.”

“You’re so annoying, Abs.” You say, and she turns back from the door to face you.

“I’ve never heard you call me anything other than Abby, asshole or dick.” She states. You smile.

“Oh I’m sorry, did I leave ‘motherfucker’ and ‘ignorant, arrogant asshole’ off the list, Abigail?”

“Abigail?” She asks, and your neck feels hot when you say it. She was right, it did feel unnatural. 

“I like that.” Remarks Abby, trying the door handle and coming to the conclusion that you were, indeed, locked in.

“What…your name? You really do have an ego second to none.” “Only when you say it.” She tells you in a manner you haven’t heard before. It was sort of…kind? Or something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

“Abigail? Or Abby?” She smiles wider. 

“I think it was part of the roof that fell.” Abbys says and your mind is still lingering on her previous comment.

“What makes you say that?” You question, taking a seat on the floor. 

“I saw crack marks on it when we entered and there wasn’t anything else around us that could be blocking the door. No shelves, no fridges, nothing.”

“If it really was part of the ceiling, we’ll never get this door open.”

“Okay, well…see if there’s another way out.” Abby instructs. 

“Always so authoritative.” You remark, and she raises an eyebrow with intrigue. 

“What was that?” She asks. 

“Forget it.” You stand up and look around.

“There’s a small window but it’s really high up, even if you boost me I wouldn’t be able to get up there.

“Fuck. I guess we’re going to have to wait for Manny to clear the rest of them, we’ve already taken out a fair few.”

“Even if Manny does take them all out, how’s he going to find us through all this debris?”

“I- you talk a lot.” Abbys says. God you could hit her. 

She sits down now too.

“You’re giving up?” You question. She shrugs.

“We’re gonna be stuck here a while, possibly for the end of our lives, might as well not waste our breath.”

“I’ve always loved your optimism.” You tease, and she looks away to hide her approaching smile. 

“Why did you join the WLFS anyway?” She questions after some time. You look over at Abby, confused.

“What happened to wanting me to shut up?”

“Fine.” She replies, grimly. You chuckle softly, taking a seat beside her. 

“My last camp was close to a large group of these brutal raiders. My group always believed in each other, thought we were all we ever needed but, it was safer to form allies. We were relocating when we discovered those seraphites you’re so fond of. When we took them out the WLFS thought we were doing them a solid or something, invited us to join the WLFS if Isaac thought us decent enough.” 

“Oh. Cool.” She says, lamely. You just smile, letting the quiet fill the room again.

“You’re not gonna ask why I joined?” Abby asked. You can’t help but laugh at this.

“Wow, you are…something else Abigail.” Abby doesn’t say anything, her cheeks becoming a light shade of pink.

“Besides, I know where you’re from. You were in a firefly group at salt lake.”

“I’m sorry, what? How did you-“

“My friend works in the apartments. The walls there are thin.”

“Oh. What…else do you know about me?”

“Practically nothing." You say, thinking a while. "I’ve seen you looking at different coins in the main hall late at night like they’re the prettiest thing you’ll ever see. Do you collect them or something?” Abby, still surprised, nods. 

“Yeah, some dumb thing my dad used to do. We collect quarters. Collected.” She corrects. You nod. 

“You got them here?” Her face warms up as she grabs her bag, pouring the pile of coins into her hand.

“This one’s from Virginia, 1788. I found these ones around the stadium, this is um, from Alaska, Mane, New Jersey and the last one I found was from Vermont.” She explains in a tone so giddy it makes you want to laugh, but you don’t, you just listen intently. 

“You think it’s stupid?”

“I think it’s adorable.” You tease, and in reality, you really did. “My friend, Chloe, collects magazines. She’s got like 500 or something crazy.”

“500?”

“Well…49, but it really does seem like a lot.” You explain, and she laughs gently. Once the laughter dies down, you wrestle with yourself internally. Should you mention it? You really shouldn’t, but what else did you have to lose?

“Abby, why are you so mean to me?” You ask. 

“I’m not mean. My pranks are funny.” Abby replies, defensively.

“Are they?” You ask, not looking at her directly. Abby hesitates. 

“Yeah, I guess not.”

“So why do you do it?”

“I like harassing you.” She says. You stand up and storm angrily to the other end of the room.

“Fine, be like that.”

“No it’s… my friends.” You don’t turn around, but you stop pacing.

“What?” You order. She sighs.

“My friends and I…only hang out with certain people, you know?”

“Wow….”

“No what, what I mean is they wouldn’t appreciate if I was friends with someone different. People would talk and I didn’t want anything to change so I decided being mean to you was the only way we could talk.”

“Abby that is fucking stupid and petty you actual dick! FUCK I could just…HIT YOU.” Abby snorts at your comment. You sigh.

“Fine, maybe I couldn’t, but I still hate you.”

“Don’t.” “Don’t what, fuckwit?” 

“Don’t…hate me. I know it’s shallow but being popular, going to parties, it’s the only fucking distraction I have. I work out or party to avoid sleeping, you know? I’m friends with heaps of people because I’m scared that if my group was small enough, they’d see through…me.” You sigh and walk back to her.

“Who knew Abby Anderson had ‘layers?’ You teased with a small smile. Abby forced a smile too, clearly feeling vulnerable. 

“Why wouldn’t they like you? The real you who doesn’t poison peoples food?”

“Oh please it was one chilli, it was good for you!” She defends, her smile becoming increasingly more genuine. You smile back.

“Cause I’m angry…and selfish.” Abby admits. You sit down beside her and put a hand on her leg.

“You just exposed yourself to a group of armed men and women with like 4 bullets in your gun to make sure I wasn’t in trouble. I wouldn’t call that selfish.”

“It was incredibly selfish.” “Why?” You ask, softly. She stands up, turning away from you. You stand up too.

“Abby…?”

“Because I let my feelings get in the way. I could have killed you, or Manny.” You feel a chill over your body and you don’t know whether it’s the temperature or her words.

“What…feelings?” You ask, and she turns around and kisses you harshly on your lips, taking you by surprise and making your hands frail around desperately in that confusion.

“I know about you too.” She says, and you’re breathing heavily, surely in some level of shock.

“I know how much you love animals, how you collect knives and are crafty. You hate spicy food, and olives, you love onions, your favourite colour is purple and you always wear a bit of colour in your hair. You can sing, you can cook, and you constantly impress others, and particularly me. You don’t particularly like reading but you can recite any line from just about any movie and I know that because at movie nights I see you mouthing the words, it’s adorable. You always have your feet up on another chair when sitting in meetings, you always double knot your shoe laces because you suck at tying them and you know what I hate about you?”

You don’t know how to respond, you can’t even think real thoughts at this point, so you just let her answer.

“I hate that you hate me because all I’ve ever wanted was to be your friend.” Abby breathes out. She shakes her head.

“That’s not true, I want to be more than that.” Your mouth is open and your wide eyed, not knowing what to say, or do.

“You were such a dick to me.” You say quietly, your eyes on the floor. Abby nods.

“Let me make it up to you?” She asks. You nod and that’s all it takes before Abby’s lips are crashing on yours again and her tongue is deep inside your mouth, tasting you like she’s been starved for a week. She puts both of her large hands on your face as she does this, moaning into the kiss as the tension from both of your bodies starts to calm. 

“Can I? I mean, do you want to?” Abby questions, and you nod with a massive smile on your face. 

✨SMUT✨

She tears your shirt off, immediately applying firm pressure on your warm skin with both hands as she explores and familiarises herself with your body. She looks at your tits and the way they sit perfectly in a light blue bra. 

“Fuck you’re gorgeous.” She exclaims before unclipping your bra and fondling your breasts. 

“So fucking sexy.” She hums, delicately rubbing your nipples between her fingers.

“mmm…What about Manny?” You ask. She shrugs.

“May his survival be long.” She says, lowering herself to the ground and your pants along with her. 

“Hmm.” She says, clearly unsatisfied with the current conditions. She stands back up and slams you against the wall, supporting your head with one of her wide hands. 

“Suck.” She says, pressing her two middle fingers to your lips. You do so without protest and enjoy the way her long fingers push further into your mouth. She removes them quickly, letting a long string of saliva soak her hand. 

She pushes them both inside you with no warning, curling the tips of her fingers and moving your clit with her thumb. 

“H….holy fuck~” You cry out. This whole situation was so unexpected. You thought you hated her but now Abbys fingers you were always thinking about were actually inside of you, and it felt fucking unreal.

“This doesn’t make us…mmm~ okay, you realise?” Abby smirks. 

“If I make you cum will you forgive me for being a dick?” You thrust slightly into her fingers, letting out a loud moan.

“You were a dick more than once.” You manage to say. She grabs you by the neck and kisses you deeply, still playing with you using her fingers.

“Challenge accepted.” She starts practically slamming her fingers inside you, watching you squirm and cry out.

“A…abby-“ “It’s okay, my girls doing good, you can take it.” 

“Hurts…” “Just a little longer for me baby.” Abby coos, not letting up her speed. She starts kissing and sucking on your neck as hard as she fucking can, tasting you, admiring you. 

“Abby…I’m…gonna….”

“You’re gonna cum already? Aw, alright, show me how good it feels.” 

“It f…mmm…”

“I said show me baby.” She says, putting in a third finger.

“MMM!” You cry and she puts her other hand in your mouth, letting you suck it eagerly again. Slowing down ever so slightly, she takes her hand out of your mouth.

“Take a deep breath for me.” Abby instructs, her face riddled with focus. You blush, your eyes struggling to stay open.

“Wh…why?” She whispers a safe word in your ear.

“You say this if its too much okay?” You nod and she forces a fourth finger inside you.

“H…holy…Abby…” 

“You’re doing so good baby.”

“I feel so full…don’t….don’t-“

“I know you can take it, look how easily my fingers can slide inside you, you can fit one more for me can’t you?”

“Mmm….mmm…hurts.”

“Say the safe word then.” You finally look at her, still blushing and she chuckles smugly. 

“You won’t will you? You want it to hurt, you want your pussy filled with me you’re just too afraid to ask. Admit it.”

“…No.” You try. God, it doesn’t even sound real to you. She just laughs.

“Try again or I’ll stop.”

“Fuck, fuck yes I like it…I like it rough, I want it to hurt just- please don’t stop.” You blurt out, wrapping your arms around her neck to support yourself. She nods and slowly eases her fist into you, making you moan. 

“Fuckkkkk, fuck Abigail….” “See? I knew you could do it.” “Fuck….mmm…you..” You stutter. She smiles.

“Fuck me yourself, coward.”  Heat swells inside your stomach and slick starts leaking down your thighs and fuck, Abbys never been more turned on in her life. She gets on her knees and licks it eagerly, sucking at your inner thighs and then your pussy.

“Tastes so good.” Abby mumbles between your thighs, moaning as she tongues between your folds.  You let out a whimper as she sucks sloppily at your cunt. 

Your hand grabs onto her hair, pulling her head in more and practically riding her face.

“Mmm, so…so…” Is all you can manage. She keeps going, using her mouth and fingers at the same time. 

“Fuck…fuck….cumming…cu-“ You cry out as you shut your eyes tightly. When Abby returns to your height, her face is glistening. You blush brightly. 

“I…um.” You say. She grabs your chin to open your mouth and kisses you passionately, moving her head around to make sure her tongue explores every angle before taking a breath. 

“You taste…fuck….” Abby says, grabbing you and pushing you onto the floor. 

“Take off your clothes.” You tell her. She smiles, smugly. 

“Where’d your manners go?”

“I thought you weren’t gonna be a dick anymore.” You huff. She smiles brightly at you. 

“Mmm, that’s right. Wait here then.” She says, walking over to her bag and taking out a black strap. It’s over 6 inches for sure, you guess 7 or 8. You’re not sure what to think.

“I guess that whole ‘I know your favourite colour’ speech was bullshit then. Do you expect to fuck all girls you take on patrol?” You ask, bitterly. She puts her large hand on your cheek, rubbing her thumb over your skin delicately. 

“You’re so precious. It’s not…for fucking. I never know how long I’m gonna be stranded somewhere so…I use it. On myself.” She explains. You can’t help but laugh.

“Shut up.” She says, hiding her own smile.

“Aw, can’t handle a patrol without your vibrator, huh? Do you get all tense?”

“Shut. Up.”

“You’re all talk, I bet no one’s ever made you cum, right? That’s why you need this pretty piece of plastic?” You question, not sure where this sudden confidence boost is coming from. Abby blushes.

“I’m gonna make you shut up soon.” She warns. You smirk.

“How many women have you been with?” You ask her. She gives you a death glare.

“Ah, so none.” 

“Shut the fuck up. I can still fuck you better than you’ll ever be fucked and that attitude will go along with your ability to walk.”

“Soo defensive.” You tease. She grabs your hands, pinning them down roughly. 

“You’re not gonna be this chatty in a second.” She says, letting go of your hands and putting the strap on. You use this break to push all your body strength onto her and start unzipping her pants.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing?” She laughs, pinning you back down effortlessly. You roll your eyes.

“Please will you just let me taste you…” 

“After that little display?” Abby just laughs, taking her shirt off and using it to bind your hands together tightly. 

“My fucking girl.” Abby grumbles, and it sounds almost like an order. She towers over you, grabbing onto your jaw with one hand.

“Open your mouth.” Abby orders. You consider putting up a fight, but she’s so intimidating and strong, you don’t know what she’d do. Maybe that excited you more, but you didn’t want to push your luck right now. Your mouth parts obediently and she guides almost the entire strap in your mouth, not giving a fuck whether you gag on it or not. 

“Remember who you belong to when you’re gagging on my dick, baby. I don’t take kindly to people who provoke me.” You just whimper as your saliva completely covers the strap. She doesn’t stop though, not for a few more minutes of your precious sounds. She holds your hair as you suck it and already this is one of the best things either of you had experienced. It made you forget about how hard, cold and potentially dirty the floor was. It made you in particular forget how many times Abby had acted so pathetic and childish when it turns out all she wanted was to be something for you. And even though it was still in your mind, it made the reality that Manny could be in danger seem like a distant memory.

She finally removed the strap from your mouth and forcefully pulled open your legs, thrusting into you slowly. “Mmmm….” You moan, lowly. She watches as it goes in and you can tell it made her wet too. She continues at that painfully slow pace, holding your pinned arms as she does so.

“Abby…don’t be a- oh fuck- a tease…” You say, desperately. She smirks again.

“So eager. If you can manage to be completely quiet, I’ll take my shirt off for you, okay?” She asks. You look away, nervously. This is what you had imagined whenever you passed the gym and saw her use her tank top to wipe sweat from her face. You’d see the men around her take off their shirts to work out and at that moment and that moment only, you had wished she was a man just so she could do the same. Another part of you didn’t want anyone else to see a shirtless Abby, though. Yes you would much prefer the private showing she was offering you. Fuck, you’d do anything to see it. When you’d pass her apartment and hear the shower run, your mind would go crazy. You wondered if it would live up to your fantasies.

“M’ I to take your silence as a yes, gorgeous?” You nod enthusiastically and she starts increasing her pace, then, seeing how well you handled that, her pressure as well. Fuck, that had almost got you. You loved how rough she could be with you because you knew she’d balance it perfectly. She’d never hurt you, she had proven that.

“Wow, look how good you can be.” You don’t say anything, but you would let out a desperate squeak at her praise. She thrust harder and you wanted to scream, biting your lip to stop yourself. 

“You did so good for me, baby.” She says, slowing down slightly but not stopping as she takes off her shirt. You gape at the sight of her glistening chest in a pretty, pale bra. Fuck…you’d do anything to have her tits in your mouth, to have your hands free and play with them, to treasure them like fucking artefacts. 

“Like what you see?” She asks. You whimper in response and she lets out a light chuckle. 

“Mmm, I’ll take that as a yes. You almost there, baby?”

“Fuck…yes Abby I’m close…please will you take off the binds?” And for a moment, it seemed like Abby was considering it before she thrust more aggressively and put a hand over your neck, being cautious about how tight she squeezed. 

“You’re precious.” Is how she replies, and you would hit her…if you could. 

Soon, the heat between you two was growing, leaking onto the floor and each others thighs, not knowing what liquids were what and who’s belonged to who. You were so fucking close. You wanted to grip on to Abbys hair or biceps. Maybe in some other perfect world or one where the woman fucking you wasn’t Abby Anderson. Abby could tell you were close, she could see it on your face, feel it in your body and hear it in your voice. Fuck, she was becoming more in love with you at every moment. 

“You gonna cum for me baby?”

“Fuck…fuck please…please can I?” She smiles so wide you were worried her face was gonna stretch. She loved hearing you beg, hearing you make sounds at all that only her ears would be blessed with,.

“Mhm.” Abby agrees, and with her permission you allow your eyes to roll back. Your legs shake ever so slightly as your glowing slick illuminates the strap and Abby’s thighs. Unlike how she had treated you before, she pulls out so gently, untying the strap from behind and pulling you in towards her so your body is against her.

She strokes your hair while hugging you still and you don’t know why it’s the most comforting thing you’ve ever felt, but you don’t complain.

“You listened so well baby. Made me feel real good.” Abby babbled. You look away, nervously and Abby picked up on your shift instantly. 

“What?” She asked, softly. You sigh.

“I wanted to…” Your words trail off. Abby nods understandingly. 

“Oh. You still want to do that?” She asked, and you nod your head eagerly. 

“Please Abby?” You beg. She nods again.

“Only because you were so good.” She says, untying her shirt from your hands and leaning back on her elbows.

“Go on then, take what you want.” She says with another one of her signature smirks. You practically leapt to the chance, removing her bra with the flick of one hand. You immediately start licking and sucking at her tits, leaving adorable bruises in your wake. Abby gives you a warning look and you know she won’t allow it much longer, so you quickly position your head between her thighs. Her muscular, large fucking thighs, you might add.

“Can I suck it through the boxers?” You question, looking up at Abby with doe eyes. She smiles comfortingly. 

“Sure.” She says, still not expecting to feel any real pleasure. That is until you suck at the lowest part of the fabric, making her pool in your mouth and drench her boxers. 

“I…mmph~” The unexpected and beautiful noise leaves Abbys lips, making you want to explore more of her. You lick a trail up her concealed folds all the way up to her clit which you start drawing vicious circles over. 

“F….fuck how are you- fuck….” Abby cries. She’s on the verge of orgasm already, you didn’t expect Abby of all people to be the kind of person to cum too fast, but you’re delighted to have something to tease her about later. You finally remove the boxers right before she cums and you put your tongue deep inside her. Then, you return to her clit and put your fingers inside her hole instead.

“Mmmmm.” Abby’s pornographic moan should be recorded, transformed into a vile and put straight into your lungs. And then, just like that, she’s coming, her pretty pink pussy pulsing under your tongue. 

You go back up to face her. 

“I knew no one had touched you like that.” You remarked. She rolled her eyes playfully. “Whatever.” Abby said, pulling you in for a tighter hug and kissing your cheek.

“Wanna go again?” Abby asked, only somewhat joking. That was until Manny’s voice echoed outside of the building they were stuck in.

“ABBY???” He yelled. He called your name too and you both quickly scrambled to put at least your shirts on. She boosts you up so you can see out the window. 

“We’re in here!” You call to him. He lets out a relieved breath. 

“Thank god I found you, you guys must have been so scared.” You turn over to Abby who’s watching the situation unfold with amusement. 

“Yeah.” Abby calls out as loud to be audible to Manny. “We were terrified.” 

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I read the post where you answered why you didn’t like Malleus and remembered that you placed Leona really highly on your favs list, and Leona is my favorite so do you mind me asking why do you like Leona?

[My TWST character tier list is here.]

[Anon is also referencing this Malleus post.]

THERE’S A REASON WHY L*ONA IS IN “Unfortunately Enjoy” TIER 😭 I think for like... over a year (2020-2021)? Probably closer to 1.5 years?? I really disliked him and swore up and down that I'd "never in my life simp for the fake cat". This was largely in part due to book 2, which to this day I believe did Leona a HUGE disservice and made him look very unintelligent and uninteresting. Then I was drip fed new Leona content as it steadily came out (vignettes, voice lines, event stories, his return in book 6) and my opinion of him vastly improved. Book 2 was just a really bad introduction to him and it greatly soured my first impressions. sjfyofqebfeiafns B-But now I'm too embarrassed to openly declare, "Yeah, I like a sad muscular l*on man. So what?" Some would say that's tsundere behavior... BUT I SAY I'M COMPLETELY JUSTIFIED FOR ACTING THIS WAY BECAUSE IT ISN'T EASY TO CONFESS WITH YOUR WHOLE CHEST THAT YOU LIKE KINGSCHOLAR OF ALL TWST CHARACTERS

... Anyway! For a much more expanded explanation, I'd recommend this post! It already states a lot of my thoughts, and I don't want to repeat them in yet another lengthy lion-related post. What I'll do instead is summarize the key points for you, plus add some commentary about Leona and Malleus at the end.

Admittedly, he is pretty. VERY pretty. I'm saying this as someone who normally really dislikes hair longer than shoulder length, the "wild"/bad boy aesthetic, and kemonomimi. Leona breaks ALL the rules and still somehow manages to wear everything and anything well because of his sheer confidence and natural grace. His physical features are also very striking... The sharp bright green eyes, the small waist and large chest (there's NO reason why he HAD to be built like that), his stupid smirk, etc.

His pettiness and sarcasm. Leona has, hands down, some of the funniest lines 🤡 I love that he has the balls to speak callously to everyone, including fellow dorm leaders and royalty. His best moments, however, are when he whips out the sarcasm on statements which are so patently untrue--like when he says he is a 'delicate prince' and a 'lost child', both moments from book 6. It's also hilarious whenever Leona speaks in a formal way, showing that he does have the education and the knowledge of how a prince should present himself, but just actively chooses to not make the effort and only does so mockingly or when social grace calls for it.

HIS BIG BRAIN FOLDS, HOLY COW (err, book 2 aside). Leona works smarter, not harder!! He's always one step ahead of everyone else, even if he appears sleepy or disinterested at the time. He figured out the trick behind the "indestructible" golden contracts, he sussed out Jamil WAY before book 4 ever came out (saying that Jamil has "eyes that always glare" and implying that Jamil poses a threat to Kalim's life; this is from Jamil's School Uniform vignette), he takes what he learns in textbooks and so easily translates it to real-world experiences (ie advising the first years on how to more efficiently mine magestones in Vargas Camp), etc. Additionally, Leona knows when to step in and when to be hands off. It's not done out of cowardice or laziness, but rather because he's thinking strategically. For example, he could have resisted capture at the hands of the Ferrymen, but he didn't because it would be smarter to just go with them willingly. It saves everyone a lot of time and energy, and it’s this kind of intelligent thinking that makes Leona really stand out.

He knows how to lead. There are many different types of beastmen, each with own beliefs, values, and traditions that are unique to their own group. As a result, it is very difficult to unify all beastmen within the Sunset Savanna under one rule. Guess who doesn't have this problem? THAT'S RIGHT, IT'S LEONA. There's a variety of beastmen in Savanaclaw, and he effortlessly rules over them and commands their respect.

He actively thinks about how to improve the Sunset Savanna. Leona's ideas are not always the best (like, yeah, you could introduce new technology to the country but expect significant social pushback from the people, who prioritize living in harmony with nature). However, I can really appreciate that he did not entirely turn his back on the people who feared his powers and talked him down. I think he eventually realized the flaws in his way of thinking and actively chose an energy and mining lab internship in hopes of researching ways to slowly implement changes that will benefit the Sunset Savanna while also remaining respectful of the people's beliefs. He is concerned about Falena's lax way of ruling and consistently brings up ideas in various voice lines about how they can improve the Sunset Savanna and its relationships with other countries and tourists. In spite of everything he went through, Leona never wants to hurt those who hurt him with their comments and comparisons to his elder brother. He does not ever want to tear down the system that kicked him down again and again, only wants to challenge it by proving his own merits and the merits of the other downtrodden that he leads.

As much as he wants to deny it, he cares about his underclassmen and goes out of his way to help them. There are sooo many examples of this that it cannot possibly fit in one bullet point. (I would really recommend reading the elongated post linked above, as I go into more detail on this.) Suffice to say, Leona has been shown guiding, instructing, and mentoring many other characters including, but not limited to: Epel, Ruggie, Jack, and various Savanaclaw mob students. This really hits me in the heart because I love reliable big brother characters 😭 EVEN THOUGH LEONA IS TECHNICALLY A YOUNGER BROTHER...

He understands his strengths—and he understands others' strengths too. This man is fully aware of his magical might and powerful presence. He uses every last bit of it to full effect and to attain his goals, whatever those may be. One of my favorite uses has to be In Fairy Gala!! He distracted some pixies by simply demanding water and their attention so his partners in crime could escape—and what’s more, this was a plan he came up with on the spot because their mission was being jeopardized by unforeseen events. Leona is also good about pinpointing people’s best attributes and then helping them hone it. This happens a lot during club practice, bur it also occurs in book 6 between him and Jamil. Speaking of…

THAT WHOLE BOOK 6 CONVERSATION WITH JAMIL DESERVES ITS OWN BULLET POINT. This part was peak mentor mode Leona 😭 Sure, maybe he wasn’t the kindest with his wording, but I felt this was the wake up call Jamil needed to hear. What really got me though was the part where Leona tells Jamil there’s still hope for him… “unlike me”. (I believe this part was translated differently in EN to make Leona’s ego sound more inflated (ie “I’m not like you”) which saddens me immensely.) It paints the image that Leona is still struggling to believe his efforts will amount to anything and that he believes more in his juniors than in himself :(( (which informs my headcanon that Leona mentors younger students so that they can have the bright future he doesn’t think he can have for himself).

Emotional complexity. When you get down to it, what started off as a very basic story of jealousy and inferiority complex actually resulted in a deeply flawed, traumatized, and scarred individual who continues to doubt and put himself down but is slowly recovering. Leona is smart and charismatic—he is everything a leader should be, but he doesn’t truly see his own worth. (Ironically, the only people who do are the ones who look up to him and follow him.) And now… Leona’s actually got his eyes set on graduating! He has his internship plans set! I think he’s made such big strides since book 2, and it’s been so rewarding seeing him regain his willingness to try and succeed return to him.

Looking back on it, it’s so ironic how things ended up working out. Initially, I was totally on Lilia’s side when he insulted Leona and said he would never be the kind of leader Malleus is. Now I’m realizing how Leona does many of the things I don’t see Malleus doing (despite Lilia claiming Malleus is more fit to be king than Leona is).

Malleus isn’t harming his people by any means, but it’s more like he’s… stagnant? Complacent? He’s satisfied with the status quo and is comfortable resting on his laurels. And because of that, Malleus doesn’t really seem to consider what he, as a leader, can do for others, be it for his dorm members or doe his country. (Part of this is also how isolated and opposed to change Briar Valley is, of course! That kind of culture definitely shapes Malleus’s thinking.) He tends to avoid situations which involve navigating social complexities rather than dealing with them himself. Think of Ghost Marriage, when Sebek proposes in his place. Think of Fairy Gala, when Silver is the one that ultimately resolves the conflict between the diurnal fae (who have historically not been friendly with nocturnal fae) and NRC. Malleus is so sheltered that has not truly been put in situations where he has to make tough decisions or where he has been challenged. He has never had to claw and scream and beg for people to see his worth.

Leona has been through that emotional wringer, and though he’s been hurt so badly, he still came out the other side. In running from the shadow of his family—of his older brother—Leona found solace in this new kingdom, Savanaclaw. It’s a place to build himself up, to stew over the ideas he has that have yet to be realized, all with a safe mental distance from home. It’s through the many hardships he has experienced that has refined his wit and given it a place to practice, to be used.

When it comes down to it, Leona and Malleus are two sides of the same coin. Both arrogant princes, the second born and crown prince, respectively, wishing for the other’s circumstances. Leona desperately wants that respect and recognition that Malleus has. Malleus longs for the intimacy and camaraderie that Leona is so easily able to cultivate and command. Leona has been forced to adapt, to learn, to grow from his scars. Malleus struggles with the concept of change (understandable, given his background) and actively denies reality if he finds the truth to be unpleasant. He’s not used to facing dilemmas that cannot be solved with magical strength, and has not ever been challenged in such a way. Malleus doesn’t know how to deal with that, which is partly why be panics and loses himself to emotions in book 7. (By the end of it, I’m sure he’ll be given the chance to see the error of his ways though 💦 or at least I hope he does??)

Their characters are very different, and that’s not a bad thing!! If anything, it makes their dynamic so interesting to observe and it offers varying interpretations of the same “prince” trope. I definitely know which of the two I prefer 🤡

[redheadspark]

may i have Benedict x reader from bridgerton with prompt #25

A/N - So cute for Benedict! Thanks for the request, anon!

Overflowed

Summary - Benedict knows how to make you smile

Warnings - Angst and fluff rolled into one :)

If there was one thing you loved about your life being a Bridgerton, it was how it was never boring or mundane.

It all started when you met your future husband, Benedict.  You both were attending art class at one of the most prestigious schools in the area, sitting side by side during one of the night classes and going through one of the lectures.  Benedict came from a wealthy family, prestigious family, which that had a major reputation for being well-loved and compassionate in charities and amongst other families.  You heard about his family for some time, though your family was not part of that circle since you were not well off.  In fact, you were attending the art school on a full-ride scholarship, not wanting to take it for granted and keeping your nose in your books and canvas.  But that night as Benedict plopped down next to you with his laptop out and ready to try, he looked over at you as you were handwriting your notes instead of typing it out.

He smiled, leaning over and saying in a low tone, “I like your handwriting.  It’s lovely,”

It was safe to say you are smitten with him from then on out.

You both sat together for the rest of the semester, learning about each other and becoming friends.  All of those rumors and stories that you hear about his family both seemed true and untrue.  He was kind, and humble in his upbringing and just wishing to be a better artist but not afraid to talk about his family and all of their endeavors.  He showed interest in you and what you liked about art, which pieces you liked and hated.  Although you were hesitant and wanted to keep your guard up when it came to letting in someone new in your life, Benedict snuck in always. 

Your first date was actually at the local county fair, Benedict asked you out after several months of building a friendship. It was surprising that he took you to a county fair, some of your other friends were already spewing theories about him taking you to a luxury restaurant or even on a yacht since his older brother Anthony did that with his now wife Kate. But not with Benedict, he would prefer to laugh with you and eat fried fair food and look at the street vendors.  

He made you laugh while attempting to win you a stuffed animal at the games, though you tried to warn him that they were rigged.  Benedict threw one baseball a bit too hard and almost broke the tent wall behind the plate that he was attempting to smash.  You laughed, the vendor scowling at him as Benedict took your hand and you both bolted before you were caught.  Benedict loved the sound of your laugh, he mentally would remember that moment for the rest of his life.  Throughout the night, you felt your walls coming down slowly with him and how he made you smile and giggle without you realizing what he was doing. Benedict was more down to earth than anything that night, then taking you to the local art show that was placed in the back of the fair.  

“I thought you would rather see something like this than at a fancy gallery,” He explained, you grinning from ear to ear as you both were gazing at the paintings and sketches from local painters and artist that were selling their art.  To think that he had all the money he would ever need, the reputation to be put in the pockets of people with power, but he simply wanted to be with you.

You shared your first kiss that night, his lips tasting of popcorn and soda pop.

Dating Benedict was both thrilling and intimidating at the same time. You were taken into his world, filled with wealthy relatives and charities that would sell dinner seats for thousands of dollars.  You barely had 1000 dollars to your name, let alone in your savings, but Benedict never minded it.  His own family was insanely sweet and kind to you, seeing how you made the artist in the family so happy and filled with joy.  Of course, they would tease you about his aloofness and his quirky nature, but you saw the same compassion and authenticity that was in Benedict in each of his siblings and his kind mother.  

However, you were a fish out of water with those dinners and events that you attended on Benedict’s arm.  The small talk with the fellow guests seemed forced and almost dry, Most of them were grilling you with questions about your own life, if you came from a rich family, or if you had any investments.  The pressure was a bit much at times, Benedict sensing it when you sat side by side during the dinners.  But the great thing about Benedict was that he would attempt to make you laugh during those tense moments, by any means necessary.  Comments under his breath, jokes that he knew were not great dinner conversation, his sense of humor was once again winning and making you come out of your shell a bit more.

Anthony could have sworn he saw you giggling and hiding your smile behind your napkin as Benedict whispered in your ear.  Anthony knew it then, you two were meant to be together.

Not everything was happy and positive with you two when it came to your love for one another. Because of your more humbled upbringing, your family bought of Benedict as dragging you along to use you.  It was hard to hear that from them, they all thought it was some kind of ruse and not real.  No matter how many times you defended your love for Benedict and told them constantly that you both were insanely happy together.  Even your ex was spewing hate on your relationship, which hurt a bit more since you and your ex were a bit sour together.  

But in the end, Benedict always came through by comforting you and making you feel safe.  He would constantly hug you and remind you that you were strong and adored, that you’d come so far in earning your degree and working at a gallery, fighting tooth and nail with your advantages and no leg up.  He admired you for that, and to see you feel defeated by others and their words broke his heart.  Plenty of nights were shared holding each other and talking through those bitter moments, it felt better to talk to him about it and get it off your chest than to hold it in.

And every time, Benedict would end up making you laugh and bringing you joy.  

“I think I found mummy!”  You looked up from your spot on the loveseat, holding an important letter in your fingers as your husband waltzed into the room with your 3-year-old daughter on his back and squealing in joy.  You beamed, watching your husband act like a horse and neighing as he was galloping around the small living room and your daughter laughing her head off with her ringlets dancing behind her.  

“Look, mummy!  Daddy’s a horsey!” She shrieked as Benedict was going in circles around your loveseat, you placing the letter on the coffee table and standing up with your hands on your hips.

“Quite the handsome horse too!” You teased, Benedict, slowing down and laughing as he stood in front of you.  Your daughter, Emma Violet Bridgerton, poked her head over his shoulder and you saw the same shade of green that her father had in her eyes.  She reached out to you with grabby hands, to which you scooped her in your arms to hug her tight, breathing in her sweet scent and feeling her arms around you.

5 years of marriage was no easy feat, but it was rewarding.  You both got married in the spring, then found a decent apartment in the downtown area that was close to the gallery you were now running and Benedict sold some of his work to get some money in your pockets. He would rather make money not by his name but by his art, using an alias with his art and not giving out his true identity.  It worked in his favor, his work being sold globally and making his alias a household name.  Your net worth grew, though tedious at times, but it grew nonetheless.  

So the news that you were pregnant two years into your marriage was a surprise, but the best kind since Benedict was over the moon at the thought of being a father.  Sure, he never thought about being a father so soon, but he didn't despise the thought of it.   Yet you were the one who was afraid of parenthood, mostly because of your own experience with your parents and how they were with you.  They were harsh, far too realistic, and at times brutal.  Did you want to inflict that on your own child?

“You are not your mum and dad,” Benedict reminded you one night as you two were lying in bed, you telling him what was festering in your mind and what you were fearing.  He had one arm around your shoulders, and his other hand was resting on your lower stomach while he was staring at you lovingly, “We are gonna love this baby and make sure that there is nothing but happiness in this home.  Plus, I bet you we’ll make mistakes here and there.  Especially me, I bet you I’m gonna put the diaper on the wrong way,”

You smiled softly, “More than once?” You asked to ask sheepishly, Benedict’s smile got wide.

“Are you kidding, over a dozen times at least!” He explained, you laughing as he went on, “And I’ll be singing to our baby with my horrible singing voice, you’re gonna hate it!”

As soon as Emma Violet Bridgerton was born, Benedict was over the moon in love with her.

“We were looking for you in hopes you were wanting to come get ice cream with us!” Benedict explained to you as Emma perked up and looked at you with her father’s eyes she inherited.

“Can we, mum?” She asked with hope in her voice, you eyeing her and then her father.

“Before dinner?” You asked in a joking tone, Emma giggling glee as you tickled her sides, “The scandal of it all!  What will the neighbors say!  We must get ice cream then since I have been craving chocolate!”

“Hooray!” Emma said in victory, the there of you walking out of the living room together as a happy family.  You left the letter behind, another disappointing letter from your parents who were reprimanding you for shielding your daughter from her grandparents.  But you were having none of it, you may have before when things were still tender with them. Yet not now, not with this life that was overflowing with happiness.  

The overflowing will never end, not if Benedict had anything to do with it.

The End.

May Prompt Session

[dearharriet]

a steve with fem reader fix might just cure me. maybe inspired by the song in agreement by lizzy mcalpine? i love your writing :)

ty sm!! sorry this took me a bit, i’m planning a trip for this summer n i’m so so stressed 😭

(1.5K) (cw: fem!r, mentions of sex)

“What’s his name?”

The bed squeaks as you roll over onto your stomach, pushing down a smile

“Steve,” you say, your voice tellingly sticky and sweet.

“Steve who?”

“What, are you gonna find him in the phone book, mom?” She wouldn’t have to. She knows Steve Harrington as well as the rest of Hawkins.

“Maybe I would,” she teases, but you think she’s half serious.

You consider spilling your guts. Your mom has heard very little of your love life before now, mostly because you weren’t dating guys you would ever take home. Steve, though…

You want to. Take him home. Not even as a pride thing (a little bit as a pride thing), but because you think he’s great, and your mom is great, and you know they’d love each other.

It all felt so exclusive, though. Girls take their boyfriends home to meet the family. Steve isn’t your boyfriend. You don’t even know why you’re telling your mom at all.

Sensing your discomfort, your mom changes her angle.

“Well, at least tell me about him. Is he nice?”

The velocity of your answer lodges in your throat and turns into a laugh.

“Um,” you giggle, “is grass green?”

Foamy chittering pours out of the landline.

“O-kay, message received,” your mom jokes. You wrap the phone cord around your finger, smiling.

“He’s so nice, mom. It’s almost irritating. He makes me sandwiches with the crusts cut off.”

“I think I’m gonna like this boyfriend of yours.” She’s obviously smiling, too. You can hear it in her voice. “He sounds wonderful.”

“Well he’s—“ you hesitate. “We aren’t exclusive.”

There’s a puzzled silence.

“He hasn’t asked?” A speck of disappointment seeps into the question. You roll back over, splaying yourself out in shame.

“Oh, he asked. Twice, but I told him no.”

A gasp. “You didn’t.”

“Yeah, I did,” you confirm, wincing.

“Well, what’s the holdup?”

“Ugh.“ The ceiling looms over you, and you track the afternoon light refracted by your mirror, thinking. “I dunno. I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Have you guys—” A tea kettle screams over the line. “Hold on.”

Staticky shuffles and your mother’s humming serenade you while you think about her question. What’s the holdup?

It’s not Steve. When you first said no, his face had sunken so severely you almost changed your mind, because you knew he would put the whole thing on himself. The second time around, you might’ve been more surprised than he was that your answer hadn’t changed. It was just…

The sound of the receiver being picked up, and your mom’s voice interrupts your thoughts.

“Have you had sex yet?”

“Oh my god, mom.”

“What? I can’t ask?”

Shoving your face into your pillows, you teeter between laughing and screaming. You’re suddenly glad you kept all your past boyfriends a secret. You pick your head back up and press the receiver to your ear, red-faced.

“No, we haven’t,” you lie. “Steve said he wants to wait until we make it official.”

It’s not totally untrue, Steve did say that. You just leave out the part where he caved two days later.

Gone is your flush by the time your mom replies, having paused so long you thought the call dropped. A serenity coats her voice, like silk sheets after a shower—everything as it should be.

“I hope you keep Steve. I’d like to meet him.”

You both leave it at that, turning over other stones for another half an hour, until your call is interrupted by a handsome devil sneaking through your door.

“Oh—hey, mom I—I gotta go, okay? I’ll call you tomorrow?” Sunny brown eyes watch you from the threshold as you say this, enjoying your casual sprawl, your sweet pajama set. Steve soaks in the privilege of seeing you, of being invited over, and of being a call-ending arrival. The phone is barely back on the hook before he rolls over you and manhandles you on top of him. You shriek but don’t fight it.

“Hi, pretty.” Steve rubs your back in big, long sweeps, melting you.

“Mmph, ‘ey,” you mumble, face smooshed into his chest. Steve is like a furnace, constantly hot, and it’s like laying on sun-warmed sand. When he laughs, it vibrates in his ribs.

“What happened to you, baby, hm? Tired?” You nod. “What’d you do all day?”

You regale the day with minimal words, all the way up to the moment he found you.

“—‘n then called mom, cause we hadn’t talked in awhile.”

“Mm-hm, I heard,” he says, not unkindly. His fingers knead the back of your neck. You close your eyes. “You didn’t have to hang up ‘causa me, yknow?”

Nodding minutely, you slur something incoherent. Steve chuckles.

“Feels good?”

More nodding. Steve kisses the top of your head.

“Talked t’my mom ‘bout you,” you spit out, too blissed to think.

Steve stills for a split second, and then doubles down his ministrations.

“Yeah?” There’s a giddy earnestness in his voice that makes you smile.

“Mm-hm,” you hum. “I told her about the sandwiches.”

An amused rumble.

“Anything else?” He asks, and if he’s trying to disguise his anticipation he’s not succeeding.

“Mmm, yeh.” A dopey smile splits your face as Steve slips a hand under your pajama shirt to scratch your back.

“Yeah? Like what, pretty girl?” Steve knows he has you limp and pliable in his lap, and he’s trying to get as much information as possible.

“Ummm, like, how we haven’t had sex—“

“We haven’t?”

You shake your head, and then it quickly devolves into rubbing your cheek on his thick polo.

“We haven’t.”

“Okay,” Steve agrees blindly.

“B’cause we aren’t official, remember?” You look up just as Steve bites back a flinch.

“Hard to forget,” he murmurs, but he pets your baby hairs back gently despite it all. “What else did you tell her?”

“That’s all,” you tell him.

Something about Steve’s sorry eyes makes you regret not telling your mom his last name. Are you ashamed of him? Do you think he isn’t worth defending? It lights a fire, burning you from the inside out. It’s so typical of you, to have one foot in and one foot out, always ready to run away. Always afraid to emotionally invest.

That’s the damn holdup.

In a self-afflicted fury, you pull yourself back together to sit up. Steve places cautious hands on your legs, gauging your mood. Knees on either side of his hips, you fist his shirt in your hands and steady your voice.

“Would you want to meet her sometime? My mom?”

Steve’s mouth drops open. He sits up, hands gripping your thighs firmly.

“Really?”

Softening, you nod. “Really.”

“‘Course I want to. Yes,” he says, breathless. “When?”

“Well…,” you sigh. Gazing at the ceiling, you pretend to think. “I’d need you to fill out some paperwork first.”

Steve raised a dubious brow.

“What, like, an NDA?”

“Ha-ha. No, not that kind of paperwork. I was thinking some kind of…certificate of exclusivity?”

Steve blinks. “I’m so not following.”

Shifting closer on Steve’s lap, you place a chaste kiss on his lips. You can hardly contain a smile as you continue, kissing between your words.

“I dunno—“ Kiss. “—just something that—“ Kiss. “—proves—“ Kiss. “—that you’re my boyfriend.”

You seal the words with a final kiss, and then hesitantly pull back to see Steve’s reaction.

Awe-stricken, Steve is playing with the hem of your pajama shorts, a thoughtful look on his face.

“You mean it?”

When you nod, Steve’s hands come up and around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer.

“What made you change your mind?” His hands caress your back like he’s not sure if this is real, like he’s afraid to break the illusion. You shrug, nose bumping his.

“Time, I guess. I wasn’t convinced you knew what you were asking for.”

Steve kisses the corner of your mouth, and then your cheek; Moves down to nip at your neck.

“Think I came on too strong,” he agonizes into your jaw. “But you’re so good for me. I didn’t want ya t’ think I wasn’t all in.”

Golden brown hair slips around your fingers as you massage his temples.

“I am, too,” you assure him. “All in.”

Steve grins.

“Can I get that in writing?”

+

thank you for reading! 🦢

masterlist

[spidernuggets]

Jason Todd x Reader

"When things get too heavy for you, you tell me, and we carry that shit TOGETHER, so it's not so heavy anymore!"

Warnings: misperception of cheating (Jason doesn't actually cheat, he'd never my baby boy mwah), mentions of alcohol, comparisons to Artemis, self-shaming

When Jason walked into your shared apartment, a faint smell of alcohol travelled through the air. This raised your suspicions even more.

Jason had told you last night he had gone on a quick emergency mission instead of his usual patrol, so he wasn't able to message or call you.

But last night, quickly popping into a nearby bar that your cousin worked at to drop off her house keys that she forgot she left with you, you saw a familiar black with a white streak hair man at the counter just when you were walking out the door. And for a split second, you could've sworn you saw a long-haired ginger woman beside him.

You shook the idea away, telling yourself that you trust Jason. Ever since Jason told you that he was Red Hood, the two of you pinky swore to never keep secrets from each other. You would've thought by then that Jason would've told you more about it, but he was pretty quiet about it. You figured that it was all the same mishaps for every patrol.

But you could smell his usual Coors Light wafting off of him as he walks towards you to kiss your head.

"Hey pretty," he barely mumbled before going into the kitchen, digging through the fridge.

As much as his little nicknames made your heart beat faster, you couldn't get the faint image of his hair and a certain Amazonian ex's hair together. And every second you thought of it, the more you could feel your heart crack a little further.

"Where were you last night?" Your voice was small, but the small, almost empty apartment made it easy for Jason to hear you.

"What? I told you, I was at a missi-"

"Don't lie to me. I know you weren't on a mission. I saw you." You spat. You wanted to be wrong. You wanted Jason to laugh at you, hug you, and call Dick or Bruce or anyone and tell them to tell you he was on a mission with them.

"Were you with Artemis?" You ask, wanting it all to be untrue.

Jason didn't look at you. He sighed. "Yeah? So what. It's not like anything happened." He said nonchalantly.

"You expect me to believe that after you lied to me about going on a mission and I catch you at a bar with your ex?" You scoff, your arms crossed and leg folded over the other. You sucked in a breath. "You know, you could've at least broken up with me. It would've felt nicer than you blatantly cheating on me without trying to let me know"

"Wait, what?" Jason said in disbelief. He couldn't say anything else. He didn't know how to explain his situation to you. So he stayed silent.

You slowly nodded your head. "Okay," you whispered, getting up to go to your shared bedroom. Well.. maybe not so shared bedroom now. You grabbed a bag, trying to stuff whatever you can into it.

Jason soon rushes in after you. "What- what are you doing??" He asks in a panic. "You're not leaving- you can't, please!" He begs.

You shook your head. "You left first! You left me by the time you let Artemis all over you! You know what- Honestly, I'm so stupid. Why the fuck would you want to be with someone like me anyway."

You didn't see Jason or Artemis all over each other that split second that you saw them. But now knowing that they definitely were together last night - that whole night, all you could imagine Jason realising that you weren't enough for him, that maybe he made a mistake separating with Artemis.

You wiped away the falling tears you didn't even know escaped your eyes as you zipped up the bag.

"No, wait! Don't leave- Dammit!" Jason fumbled over his words. "Nothing happened! She wasn't all over me! Just- Just stay, okay?? Nothing happened. Seeing her last night was just a one-time thing!"

You could hardly process what he was saying. There was ringing in your ears, and your vision was blurred. "Don't do that to me. Don't do that 'one-time' bullshit. If you really wanted me to stay, it should've been a zero time thing."

It was obvious that you thought you were a downgrade to Jason's past lovers. Or at least that's what you thought. But you found yourself so much less as a partner than his other lovers that all you can think about him going back to any of them.

"Listen, I'm sorry! I promise nothing happened! I won't lie to you again! It won'thaopen again!" He raises his voice, desperate for you to stay.

I slumped my shoulders. "How am I supposed to believe it won't happen again, huh? If it happened once, it's bound to happen again! How am i supposed to believe that you won't run off again to some other girl who's stronger, prettier and- and is just as badass as you are- I'm none of those things, Jason! If that's what you really wanted, then why even bother with me?!" You lay out all of your insecurities and weakness to Jason. Your breathing becomes heavy and uneven.

His brows furrowed. You were strong. You were beautiful. And you'd never even given him the chance to think you weren't.

"I'm not 'bothering' with you! What I really want is you! Not some other girl with muscles and-" He paused, trying to gather his words. And failing. He had no idea what the right thing to say was. All he knew for sure was that you were the only one he wanted. "I only want you."

"Then why the hell were you with Artemis in the first place?" You cried, throwing your bag over your shoulder, ready to leave.

"Look. It was just one time. I was at a weak place and- and she was there to help me. That's it. Nothing more." He tried to explain.

"So why not come to me if you're feeling that way, Jason?! That's literally what I'm here for, I'm here for you! Was I just not enough that you had to go to Artemis?!"

He growled, the question hitting a nerve. "You know I would tell you if something was bothering me. The reason I didn't is because- because I don't want to be a burden to you! You have enough shit knowing who I really am and I-"

He paused, swallowing. "You don't need me to be another bother in your life. You're strong, you're confident, you don't need me weighing you down with my bullshit."

You scoffed, pulling your hair back, your hand gripping against your hair. "Jesus Christ- I WANT you to weigh me down with your bullshit! That's my job when I decided to be in a relationship with you! When things get too heavy for you, you tell me, and we carry that shit TOGETHER, so it's not so heavy anymore! That's why I always talk to you when I have problems because I know you're there to help me! I know I know nothing about your life as a vigilante, and that Artemis is probably best suited for you, but I'm here, Jason! So don't you dare use that bullshit excuse on me!" You panted, tired and dried tears on your cheeks. You dropped yourself to sit on the bed, holding your face in your hands, your elbows resting on your knees.

You knew Jason had as many insecurities as you did. You knew the struggles he had as a vigilante. But you wanted him to come to you. You didn't want to push him by forcing him to tell you his problems.

Your words struck a chord in him. You wanted him. All of him. Not just the good parts but the bad parts as well. Even all his 'bullshit.' He took a step closer, testing the waters and putting his hands on your cheeks.

"I'm sorry. I never should have kept those things from you. I guess I just- I mean, I thought that you knowing about my life scared you enough. I didn't want to put more on you about my problems about my job too.." He weakly says, his head hanging low as he sits beside you on the bed. "I just thought... If I don't tell you any of this shit... you wouldn't be overwhelmed... and that you wouldn't leave."

You shook your head. "You're so selfish. You're so fucking selfish for thinking about those things about me. For thinking I'd leave you just because you're not perfect- I'm literally dating you because you're not perfect." You said quietly, your voice hoarse and raw.

Jason felt a lump grow in his throat. "I just didn't want to hurt you," he insisted, pressing his forehead against yours. "I just didn't want to lose you. And I messed everything up. But I promise you. Nothing happened between me and Artemis. You mean more to me than she ever has."

He sighed, looking into your eye. "Can you forgive me? Can we go back to the way things were?" He asked softly. "Please..." His quiet pleads were small and desperate. His eyes were soft and glossy, with hopes of you staying.

You slowly pulled away from him. "Get me my bag." You said with no emotion.

"What?" He said, feeling deflated and feeling his soul shatter.

"Just do it." You demanded.

His eyes closed as his shoulders slumped, feeling like he finally lost you, that you had really given up on him. His fingers tightened around his fists. After a moment, Jason went to get your bag across the room and brought it around to you, presenting the bag to you in his hands. He he stood in front of you, waiting for you to take the bag and leave.

"Now take the stuff out of it and put it back where they were," you muttered while sniffling.

His brows furrowed in confusion. "I-What?" His eyes widened slightly as he slowly realized what you were getting at. Your words suddenly caught up in his brain, and he realized exactly what you were asking of him. You weren't going anywhere. Jason rushed to take everything out of the bag and put them back where they belonged. He then stood in front of you, waiting for you to speak.

You shifted from your spot, laying yourself comfortably on the bed, your back facing him.

Like communicating telepathically, he laid next to you, just as you secretly wanted, ready to apologise for the millionth time until you spoke up.

You sighed and paused before speaking. "I'm not forgiving you. Not now, at least. And I doubt I'll forgive you tomorrow. Or the day after. But I will... Eventually.." You took a deep breath. "But I'm not leaving you. Because I love you. But if you pull this shit ever again, I might. And probably kill you. And from now on, you need to tell me shit you're going through. No matter how bullshit it may seem. So that you don't have to lie to me or find comfort someplace else. So that I can understand you.. And so that you wouldn't feel the need to go find some other girl who you think can carry your weight better than I can. Understand?" You said, avoiding eye contact.

"I understand," Jason finally said with a nod. He reached out his hand to touch your face. "I'm sorry. You mean the world to me. I don't want to lose you either. And you're right... I won't keep things from you anymore. You'll be the first to know now..."

You slowly nodded, finally looking in his eyes. You let yourself cuddle closer to him. As you pressed yourself against him, he wrapped his arms around you in a tight squeeze. His fingers traced your spine, and he breathed in the scent of your hair. He was so grateful that you weren't leaving... That you were still willing to give him another chance.

"I love you," he whispered, holding you close.

I need constructive criticism. did i make reader or whole thing too dramatic or... I NEED FEEDBACK

[ventismommy]

Cont. of last ask, but maybe even rubbing Gorou's ears or tail as he cums?

(Also, is 💌 taken? If not, can I please be known as 💌-anon?)

hi cutie! absolutely you can be 💌 anon <3 and here you go

sub!gorou x dom!fem reader

reader is referred to by female terms, but I am happy to rewrite it with make or neutral terms! Enjoy~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Out of all the times for General Gorou to be pent up and thinking about your touch, in the middle of a mission is quite possibly one of the worst. Why is it your touch specifically, your hands, that keep replaying over and over in his head?

Well, he thinks he knows the answer to that. You two are comrades and very close friends, yes, but ever since a drunk night after a victory banquet led to you kissing him, your relationship become far more romantic in nature. It wasn't something you discussed with other shoulders, but to call you his lover- and, if the plans he has discussed with Kokomi went well, his soon-to-be fiancée- wouldn't be an untrue statement. Now, as he makes his rounds to make sure everyone else is set, he feels your eyes roaming over him like a cat eyeing its prey. He knows you can tell how pent up he's been- you know him too well.

As the sun begins to sink in the sky, the group starts to set up their tents. The mission is to investigate the passages below Suigetsu Pool, as there have been reports of rumbling and disturbances. But with the crumbling structure here, the soldiers have plenty of room to spread out, and some can even set their tents up in rooms of the ruins, adding more privacy. Gorou supposes he shouldn't be surprised that you choose to set up in one of the more enclosed rooms of the old stone building, but acknowledging why you might be doing it puts leaden butterflies in his stomach and sets his tail wagging anxiously.

He enters the tent as you're laying out sleeping bags and lighting a small lantern that, honestly, doesn't provide much light. The light is enough for him to see your face, though, and the way your eyes watch him in a way he's come to love and hate. He settles down onto the sleeping bag you've rolled out for him to begin unfastening his armor, but he knows full well he won't be sleeping in it tonight with the way you make sure he's looking before you start to undress. Just the sight of your bare torso as your top is discarded makes him freeze.

"Gorou~"

Your voice pulls him out of his staring, and he flushes, one ear twitching. "Y-Yes- sorry, I...um...yes?"

Your quiet laugh sends shivers down his spine.

"Come over here?"

It's almost embarrassing how quickly he scrambles to obey, finishing up removing the half-top that covers his shoulders and coming to sit inches away from you. Absentmindedly, you reach out and ruffle his hair; a sign of approval that he much appreciates.

"Did you...need me for something?" He asks, trying very hard to keep his voice steady as your eyes meet his. The hand you had buried in his unexpectedly fluffy hair comes back down to rest on his thigh, an easy place to reach given he's kneeling.

"Just wanted you over here. I thought it would be a crime to waste the opportunity we've been given. Out on a mission, but still able to stay in what's essentially a room? Away from prying eyes?"

You lean forward and catch his chin in your hand, bringing his face closer to yours til there's barely any space between your lips and his. To his credit, he's managing not to shake too badly, though his hands are still restless in his lap and his cheeks are quickly approaching red.

"I know you've been all worked up, hon. And how often do we get the chance for uninterrupted quality time?"

He tries to say, "Not often," but your lips are on his in a flash and all he manages is "Not." He's not complaining, though. Your kisses start deceptively gentle. Before long, though, he's gripping onto your shoulders as you nibble on his bottom lip. Your hand has moved again, this time from his thigh to his slender waist to pull him closer til he's practically in your lap. Your fingers are starting to slide into the waistband of his pants and the way they're dragging down his back makes him shudder.

Your other hand manages to sneak its way up into his hair, stroking the outer edge of his ear, and he jolts. The little motion makes you chuckle, something that deepens the blush on his face. The sensation of your fingers brushing against his ear- and his subsequent reaction- makes him want to melt into the floor.

But you keep doing it.

You keep rubbing the soft fur of his ears until he whines, getting bold enough to climb into your lap completely. He's all too aware that he's putting himself at your mercy, but he can't find it within himself to care. You're quick to take advantage of this, the closeness allowing you to cover his exposed neck and collarbone in kisses and the occasional bite. At this point, his head is in the clouds, and he doesn't even notice the sounds he's making.

"You're so cute like this."

These words, though, manage to slip through the haze in his mind. He starts to respond but your hand on his thigh is sliding up further and further until you're palming him through the fabric of his pants and there is not a single word in his head. Between that and the hand still toying with his ears, he doesn't know which sensation to focus on.

Gorou can't help bucking his hips into your hand, the low whines coming from him getting higher in pitch. He's well aware you're giggling at his eagerness but thinks he can manage to ignore it given the circumstances. His eyes flick back to the sleeping bag below you two, gauging whether he can actually fall back on it- and then his hands are grabbing your shoulders and pulling you with him as he lays back. "Aww, can't withstand a little teasing, huh? Too pent up? You already want me to get to the point and touch you."

Gorou nods, though he squeezes his eyes shut to avoid the embarrassment. Which makes it impossible for him to notice you leaning closer to him until your voice is whispering right in his ear.

"Is that what you want, General? You want me to slide these off-" you tug at the waistband of his pants- "and touch you properly? Make you cry out for me?"

His stuttering response is so adorable it almost makes you want to eat him up. "Oh- o-oh, archons, yes, um, I want you to do that- I've been wanting y-you to do that, s-so bad-"

"Ask me nicely then, if you want it s-so bad." You say, lightly mocking the last part of his sentence. Never mind that you're still palming him, intentionally making it difficult for him to find his words.

"Ple-mmm- please touch me, archons please I want you to touch me!"

"Good boy~" comes your response, and you make good on your word. Your hands stop their teasing torment to unfasten his pants and slide them down over his hips. You almost want to laugh at how eagerly Gorou lifts his hips to help you.

There he is, looking so pretty beneath you with a cute little flushed cock. You wrap a hand around it and he jolts so hard you almost lose your grip. Poor thing is so sensitive.

The pace you set is slow, but not agonizingly so. Your other hand finds its way back up to his ears, rubbing the soft fur and noticing the precum that spurts out when your fingernails scratch the base of them. It just makes you want to do it over and over.

Gorou is too out of it to even pretend to be embarrassed, writhing underneath your touch. His hips buck when you twist your wrist expertly, and the moan that comes from his mouth is loud- almost loud enough for you to shush him, despite being in a more enclosed structure away from prying ears. For now, you let him cry for you, occasionally letting go of his ear and wiping away his tears with a gentle hand. There's a dual purpose to this; every time you take your hand away from his wildly twitching ear, it's an extra little bit of teasing that you delight in giving.

His little noises are starting to become halting and even more breathless, something that doesn't escape your notice. And so, with a plan in mind, you slow your pace to a stop and let go of him. He starts to fuss at you, but you get to him first.

"Flip over for me, sweetie. Let me play with that cute little tail of yours."

It's adorable, bordering on pathetic, how quickly he obeys. He ends up on his knees, bent forward with his arms resting on the pillow and his head resting on his arms. You drag your fingers from his shoulders to the base of his spine, and he shivers, mouth falling open in a silent whine.

Well, that hand has better things to do- like reaching around him to continue teasing his cock. He's plenty flexible, so you've got no qualms about using your other hand, splayed across his lower back, to push his spine to arch further. Sure, he makes a halfhearted sound of protest- but his tail is wagging. The wagging falters when you resume your slow pace, stroking his cock and wrapping your other hand around the base of his tail. He's starting to whimper again, legs shaking a little bit, and you coo at him encouragingly.

"There you go, baby. Doesn't that feel good?"

"Y- mmmm- yes, m-ma'am, feels s-so good- p-please, faster?"

You hum a sound of agreement as you oblige him, and a loud string of moans- and the occasional curse- comes pouring out of his mouth. It brings a sly smile to your face to see him so desperate for your touch.

One of the arms his head had been resting on removes itself to reach back for you, his hand closing around your wrist but doing nothing to slow your pace. If anything, it seems he's trying to urge you to go faster, and you are happy to do so. Not only do you speed up your pace even more, but you start to use your other hand to comb through the fur at the base of his tail, and he absolutely melts. His knees start sliding apart, seemingly unable to give the effort to stay up.

"Oh, look at you. Having a little trouble holding yourself up?"

When he speaks, it's not even to answer your question- he's too focused on what he's feeling. His grip on your wrist tightens.

"D-Don't stop, please, 'm so c-close-" he manages to stutter out. Luckily for him, edging isn't in your plans tonight.

"I won't stop, don't worry baby. You just focus on feeling good for me, mkay?"

When you look up at where his face rests on the pillow, you realize you can see damp spots- he's been crying even more. Poor overwhelmed baby. The sight makes your heart melt.

Before long, he's shaking and gripping the pillow like it's life or death. His breathing is ragged.

"W-Wanna cum, p-pl- ahh- please, can i- oh, archons!"

After waiting a long moment, just to be a tease, you nod your head. "Go ahead, Gorou. You've been good."

"I've b-been good, 've been g-good-" he repeats to himself before a loud cry interrupts his speech. "O-Oh, f-fuck- cumming!"

With that, his whole body tenses, and he's spilling onto your hand and his sleeping bag. Not that that second mess will matter, since he'll likely sleep on yours with you, curled up at your side. Once you've worked him through his high, you carefully help him to lay on his back, caressing his face. "You did so good, hon. Feel a little better now?"

He just nods tiredly, reaching up to try and pull you down for a hug. You oblige for a few moments before laughing. "I've got to clean you up now, you gotta let go- I promise, hon, I'll be back in your arms in just a little bit, okay?"

He whines, but lets you go, and with a cloth from your pack and some water from your canteen, you manage to get him- and the-ahem- mess on his sleeping bag- cleaned up as fast as possible. And then, as promised, you're laying next to him with his arms wrapped around you, him clinging tight to you. You pet his head comfortingly as he falls asleep, whispering to him about how good he did. And not long after he's dozed off, you follow him into sleep, a contented smile on your face.

[celluloidbroomcloset]

"Stede sees Ed through rose-colored glasses." I've seen this one floating around a wee bit, so I had thoughts.

First, yes, he does, to a certain degree. From the start, he's fixated on finding Ed. He sees the wanted posters and disbelieves how Ed is being depicted (with good reason - the first view he had of Ed was from the book on pirates and when he meets Ed for the first time the man in no way fits the image). That's not his Ed.

But Stede, for all his sweetness and his lightness, is neither naive nor deluded, and nothing makes that clearer than the scene between him and Izzy in "The Innkeeper."

We should note that Stede is either lied to or not told things pretty consistently here. Part of it is the crew trying to protect him, knowing his feelings about Ed; part of it is the crew trying to protect themselves from retribution. But other than what he has heard about Ed - which he can't take at face value, for good reason - and what his old crew have told him - and they didn't see the full descent into the Kraken - he does not know what happened on the Revenge.

Or does he? Izzy starts out by saying "I know you think you understand him—" And Stede interrupts: "He was either going to watch the world burn or die trying. Which was it?"

This is not a deluded person. He is well aware of what Ed is doing. I think he's also well aware that most, if not all, of the destruction of his things and his ship was Ed's doing. More importantly, this line indicates very clear that Stede is far more aware than we think. He does not try to explain things away. Yes, Ed did this. Where is he? Did he die or did he watch the world burn?

Stede takes on a lot of the guilt for what Ed became (that's a whole other thing, I won't get into that too much here) even before they board the Revenge. He later tells Zheng that he thinks what has happened is his fault. And with Izzy, it's important how the conversation gets framed, as something that happened almost randomly: "He went mad. He tortured the crew. He took my leg because I dared to mention your fucking name."

As viewers, we know that's what happened, and also not what happened. We know that Izzy goaded him into putting on the Blackbeard persona again. We know that Ed's first reaction to losing Stede was to build a blanket fort and cry himself to sleep. We know that Izzy threatened him and mocked him and needled him until he cracked. We also know that Ed sobbed every night and tried to kill himself by getting others to kill him. There's a lot that Izzy knows and doesn't say, in that moment, not just that they actually killed Ed.

There's both kindness and cruelty here. Izzy is giving Stede false hope - that Ed is still alive somewhere - and he's protecting the crew and he's also protecting himself by the way he frames it ("He went mad" not "I goaded him into madness"). Whether or not he knows about Stede's guilt complex, he's making use of it. But he's probably the most honest with Stede, and himself, than he's ever been: "You and me did this to him, and we cannot let the crew suffer any more for our mistakes." He's not wrong, and it's not a lie. The important thing here and now is the crew and protecting them, because Izzy and Stede very much agree that it is not their fault.

But again, none of this indicates that Stede is looking at Ed through rose-colored glasses. For what he does know and see, he sees very clearly. He naturally doesn't want to believe that Ed has lost his mind, but when he sees actual evidence of it, he doesn't deny it or try to explain it away as untrue. He does take on the burden of guilt, though (which, TBH, Izzy is partially shoving off on him, but these are not well-balanced or particularly logical men able to manage their emotions very well).

Stede is not a deluded man. He's a romantic man, and he indulges in his fantasies, but he learned very early that piracy is not fantasy. There's a major interplay between his guilt for leaving Ed and his clear-sightedness when it comes to Ed.

I think what might bother people, TBH, is that Stede does indeed see Ed for who he is and still loves him (not gonna get into the fucking weird headcanon that Ed is going to abuse him or some shit, Jesus Christ). He just also has faith in all the other things he's seen in Ed. He points out that "you were gonna burn my face off, remember?! I got over that pretty quick." Which is funny, but it also shows how very not scared of Ed Stede is. Not for one moment does he think that Blackbeard is all there is to Ed, but neither does he deny the existence of Blackbeard. He absolutely does understand.

[salsakiyoomi]

you know when oikawa’s lying.

there are many tell-tale signs, really — it's with the way he stutters when he begins speaking at first, the way he fiddles with his hands and looks at everything but your eyes, almost as if you’d see right through him if he met your gaze, the way the tips of his ears turn pink the moment he says something even remotely untrue — if it were any other person, they’d think he just lost his wits for a moment and now he’s stumbling over his words, but you know better than that, you've known him for far too long to know better than that.

also, he's just a really bad liar.

“tooru, i know you still didn’t pick a suit for prom.” you tell him bluntly, cutting off his rambling.

he stares at you for a moment before groaning and covering his face, “look! I'm helpless okay!”

an amused smile cracks its way at your lips as you watch him slump on the ground like a child, “i thought you and iwa went to pick out suits last thursday though?"

it's a late afternoon on a saturday and the two of you are sitting in his room, talking as he was sitting on the floor, doodling something on a paper and you were sitting on his bed, laying on your stomach as you swing your legs back and forth.

he stares up at the ceiling, watching the ceiling fan spin as he spreads like a starfish on the floor, “yeah but there were too many options.”

you snort, “what do you mean too many options? It's literally the same black and white tuxedo for every guy out there.”

he shakes his head rolling on his side and he gets a slight view of you laying on the bed above him, “no, i wanna get something different, something nobody else is gonna wear.”

you laugh — tooru oikawa, as always, wanted to stand out within the crowd whether that be with a different tux or a taco suit, he always wanted to be different from everybody else. and it suited him really, he was always a stand off but it's not something you particularly minded.

“well, if it helps.” you begin, “i haven't picked out my dress yet, so we can get matching colors or something.”

at that, oikawa sits up excitedly, “seriously?”

you glance at him and laugh, “yeah, sure why not? it’d be fun.” you roll on your side to face him, “i can get like a black dress while you get a red suit or we can both get red — or or! we can do pink and green or yellow and blue, you know like complimentary color matches.’’

“fuck yeah.” he responds, grinning “but if we do pink and green, im wearing a pink suit — thats something surely no guy is gonna be wearing out there.”

you chuckle, “sure, green is a color i've never worn anyway.”

tooru oikawa has always wanted to stand out, but ever since the day you've met him, he has always stood out, without even trying, that's mainly the reason you've become friends with him — he has always had an attractive personality (and an attractive face, to be fairly honest) that always enticed you to know more about him, so the day you first met him and he invited you out for lunch, of course you couldn't say no.

“oh yeah, by the way,” you say, “have you gotten a prom date yet?”

oikawa shakes his head no, and waves his hand dismissively, “had a few ask me out, i said no.”

you scoff a laugh at the way he talks about the fact that he had girls asking him out so casually, as if its something that happens everyday — which you assume it actually does, given how popular he is at school.

“what about you?” he suddenly asks, and you can’t help but notice the way he chews at his bottom lips, almost as if nervous from what your answer could be.

you reply, “nope.” shaking your head and heaving a sigh, “can you imagine? not a single guy.” you wipe away a fake tear and the both of you laugh.

the moment passes, leaving an air of tranquility settling in behind it.

“i could change that, you know." oikawa murmurs quietly, you wouldn't have heard it if it weren't for the silence in the room.

you can't help but laugh, "seriously, tooru? you couldn't find a less cheesy way to ask me out?"

you can see a slight blush form on his cheeks, and he turns away from you, "shut up, i'm trying here."

but you don't shut up, you continue to laugh, and you move off the bed and next to him on the ground, as you continue to tease him, "i thought you were going out with iwa."

although his back is turned to you, you can tell that he's rolling his eyes at you right now, "that joke is getting so lame."

you chide, cackling, "c'mon, tooru."

a moment passes with him groaning at your banter and you laughing at the way he does so, trailing your hand up and down his arm in a butterfly touch with your fingertips to provoke him.

finally, he turns around to face you, you can see the way his bottom lip is slightly jutted out as a faint red paints his cheeks and his hand grabs your wrist, forcing your fingertips off his shoulder although he longs for your touch — he pins your hand beside your head, and he seems to tower above you a bit, staring down on you and he mutters, "look, i'm serious here."

you stare up at him, your eyes wide and unblinking and your heart beating a little too fast for your own liking and your face is warm and you can't tell if it's because he's too close or if it's because of the sunlight shining on your face.

"serious?" you utter, voice barely above a whisper.

he answers, "only if you say yes." he can't hide it anymore — can't hide the blush that blooms on his cheeks, can't hide the way his heart is beating so fast, the way it always beats so fast when he's around you and he can't help but feel the way the air gets so much hotter when it's just the two of you, like there are matches alight in the atmosphere, he can't hide his feelings for you, not anymore.

"fine, then." you finally say — it's not like you can deny him or yourself either, because you feel the same way and the air is so hot when it's just the two of you.

oikawa has always stood out to you, whether it be when he was in tux suit, or a taco one, or because his hair looked extra good after hair wash day, it didn't matter what it was because he always had something to show off, even without trying.

and now this time, when he's actually trying to show off, he presses his lips against yours in a firm kiss, and he moves them against yours as if it's second nature, like he's done this a thousand times before, and you assume he has but oh god, you taste so sweet and he can't help but notice how your lips fit so perfectly with his.

and to you, he has never stood out more.

[jaegeraether]

Sunsets and footballers (Part 34)

Lucy Bronze x Reader (32)

Masterlist (other parts here)

That was not what she’d expected at all. YFN had done her research and put her own puzzle pieces together, though her theory had missed the mark by a significant amount.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

YFN couldn’t even close her mouth.

She walked closer, lightly treading with elegance as if to not scare her away. When she was close, her eyes lingered on the scar cutting her eyebrow with empathy.

YFN managed to find herself and cleared her throat. “Your misdirection was very believable.”

“I was worried the voice would give it away.” She said almost shyly. Her voice was more regal now, less…common? Clever.

YFN’s relief must have been clear, and she didn’t realise herself just how worried she’d been. “And my misdirection was not entirely untrue…” She gestured around her. “This is her house.”

They were standing in the house of JK Rowling. The woman she’d assumed she was meeting. It all made sense, didn’t it? Joe. Lumos. When she’d originally started researching the company, she’d come across the other Lumos, the charity founded by Joe. Though, she made sure to not hold any assumptions going into their meeting.

“Why her?” She asked, knowing it was a little rude to do so. “Why hide behind someone the public hates so vehemently?”

“I needed someone with power, someone rich, someone people could believe had the capabilities of doing so.”

“So Lumos is a branch of her company?”

“No…it’s my company, my money. I spoke to Joe about the idea of using her as a bit of an alias, as well as using the same name as her charity.”

“But…why hide at all?” She really didn’t understand. She was wealthy, powerful and beyond all else… “People adore you.”

“I thought about it, trust me. But how would that look, having me try to lift the women’s game? It would look like a publicity stunt, like they needed me when they don’t. I need them to show that they can do it themselves. They have the motivation, the will, the support and now they have you. At least, I still hope they do?”

YFN was fully aware now that up until this point, she’d been disillusioned as to the identity of ‘Joe’, right down to the reason that she’d chosen her. She was a writer. Exactly what Joe herself would have done. This was a better scenario, though the fact that her guise was the infamous author would not be well received. She didn’t try to understand the complexities of it all. Looking beyond all of that, she knew that the person she’d spoken to on the phone was genuinely passionate. Caring. Hard-working. She understood that she had been a victim of her title and knew deep down that they could accomplish incredible things together.

“They still do...”

“Tea is prepared in the estate room, ma’am.” Benjamin interrupted politely.

“There’s hot chocolate too, YFN.” She promised with a lovely smile that begged to be photographed.

How did she know?

“Thanks, Kate.”

“Cath, please. Only the media calls me Kate.”

“Did you ever have any intention of meeting me?”

To her credit, Catherine was very similar the person she was presented as in public, however the more time they spent together, the more liberated she became with her thoughts. YFN realised how much of a burden it must have been, stuck under the thumb of royal obligation and public expectation, though in this room, there were just the two of them.

“No,” she allowed herself a little smirk as she took a sip of tea. “No, my intention was most definitely to stay invisible in this. And besides you, I plan to keep it that way.”

“You’re not worried about Mark?”

“I knew that hiding behind Joe would mean the possibility of people assuming she was directing this, and furthermore that she would have enemies try to pull her down. She did warn me about Mark. He’s…persistent.”

“A business rival I’m assuming?”

“I believe Joe managed to ruffle his feathers a little with a business deal a few years back. She said he’s forever since been adamant to undermine her achievements, and to make matters worse, he doesn’t care that Lumos is a charity. See, I originally assumed we’d be safe if I created a company with the same name, because who would attack a charity? As it turns out, Mark would.”

“And I’m guessing the idea of you having a personal conversation with him to quietly nip this in the bud is out of the question?”

“Indubitably.”

YFN bit her lip as she thought about the situation she found herself in. She wanted to ask if her husband knew, but knew it was the wrong question for the conversation. What Catherine was doing was separate from that. Separate from her life as a royal, as a mother, as a leader.

“No, William doesn’t know.”

YFN’s eyes shot up to find Catherine’s. David wasn’t wrong, she was intelligent. She had those rare gifts of intrapersonal and interpersonal intelligence, the types that YFN felt she also had; the ability to truly understand herself and other people. It was perfect for Catherine’s main role, really.

“A personal project then?”

“Of sorts.”

“With…very high ambitions?”

“Yes.”

The conversation was quick witted and much more was being said in the words they didn’t vocalise.

“I’m Australian, so forgive my lack of knowledge…but I wasn’t aware you were so passionate about football?”

“It does tend to be William’s passion more than mine, however I do love sport. And while football may not be my favourite, it is England’s favourite, and it’s where the change needs to happen first.”

First? Her eyebrows raised. “You plan on expanding Lumos to other sports?”

“Gradually, yes. The focus begins on all things football and will grow to encapsulate all female sport.”

“Not male sports?”

“Potentially in the future, if we ever reach equivalence, however that is not my intention. My main goal is to focus on the female perspective. I find sport to be one of the largest places of gender inequality and male dominance. It’s going to be a tough field to make change.”

YFN couldn't help but feel that her choice of JK Rowling as a hidden alias was detrimental to her success. Catherine read her thoughts again, she seemed to be good at that.

“Joe…is a friend. I’m unsure of your opinion in the matter but I don’t agree with her opinions and I did think that using her would only be of benefit to her if people had dug deep enough to assume she was behind it. “

She wanted the best for Joe, even at the sacrifice of a little face. Even after her controversial opinions. The admiration must have been written on her face from Catherine’s returning look.

“And Joe did also help me choose you.”

“That explains a query of mine. I’m a writer, first and foremost.”

“Please don’t think that I only chose you because it’s what Joe would have done. It’s not. I looked into you and your work meticulously. It took me a long time to find you, and it wasn’t just for your work as a writer. It was the way you interviewed people, the way you approach questioning, your ability to be both affable and determined. You know exactly what you want, and how to get it without sacrificing the comfortability of the people you speak to.”

It was the nicest compliment she’d ever received, and she felt herself blushing a little. Catherine put down her tea.

“Also, I found some of your photography. I understand you moved away from it and over to the publication side of your previous workplace. Photography happens to be a passion of mine. I believe it to be an important artform, and it did motivate me towards pursuing this project. Without it, I wouldn’t be here with you. I’d be off with the other duties that are required of me.”

Catherine had studied Art History, if YFN remembered correctly. It began making even more sense.

“What…is the timeline you had in mind?”

“The only timeline I’ve considered so far is that of football. I want us to have coverage of all of it by the end of next year. I hope that it’s a fully run operation by then, and we can expand into tennis and cricket.”

The hot chocolate did its job then and YFN yawned so hard, she worried she was being rude.

Catherine gave a polite chuckle.

“It’s getting late. We have a few days to talk this over more, Joe is in the US for another week, and I’ve managed to wriggle out of some royal engagements for the next few days. Shall we pick it up tomorrow?”

Things had begun to come even more into focus the next day after they’d spoken a little more. It was her passion project, and one that YFN felt honoured to be a part of. The only people who were aware of it were her Lumos management, Joe, several staff, and now YFN. Catherine’s management team for Lumos was kept small and tight, and their main jobs were not limited to networking throughout the sports, optimising their business and even planning for the future of the company.

In the early morning, they’d all taken a meeting together in the conference room on Zoom. As the meeting began, YFN was surprised to see a few of the individuals had been people she’d met at the charity event. Catherine really did have people everywhere.

“It’s a good thing that it became a necessity to meet.” Catherine admitted. “I think now that we know each other better and you can fully see our goals, we’re going to benefit from it.”

YFN agreed with that. And now that she realised just how much influence, wealth and power were behind the company, her confidence grew as well as her appetite for more.

The meeting went for hours with so many points of business that YFN didn’t really understand. Luckily, they hadn’t expected her to, as her focus was primarily on the actual product they were providing. She hadn’t realised just how much effort went into the secrecy of a company, or the background decisions, compromises, and discussions that she’d previously thought of as trivialities.

The money of course would be noticed by William who knew his wife had a passion project, but didn’t know what. It was her baby. The way she led her group made that very, very clear, and although she wasn’t used to running a company, she was so well-read and had educated herself so well that she wasn’t just a figurehead, she was leading them and not afraid to ask questions to the more experienced businesspeople.

The meeting became interesting when the team unanimously agreed on the expansion of the employees after their successful first round and had already had many candidates lined up which they filtered through together. Catherine encouraged YFN to get involved in that as she actually worked on the ground with them and managed them.

Following that, management went back onto other business details and Catherine used the opportunity to give YFN a phone very similar to her own, and it was purely set up to work with her and the management team. No wonder why she’d always been so quick at replying and holding that boundary between Lumos and her other duties, she’d had an entirely separate phone for it.

With the need for more people, came the eventual agreement for an office space. London made sense as it was central, and most games would be there. They’d already acquired the space and were just waiting for the final go-ahead which Catherine gave that approval for. YFN was grateful that the discussions moved onto design and architecture, furniture and parking which gave her the perfect opportunity to decide how to use the multiple sets of cutlery with her different lunch dishes.

Catherine had laughed at that, and it was warming to see her so relaxed outside of the public eye.

Listening to them talk about the office, she was pleased to see that it wasn’t too far from Lucy’s apartment, knowing it would be convenient, though she knew it would be best for her to stay central in Birmingham for the meantime, just until they became a lot busier. She could deal with the drive until then. Besides, she wondered if Leah and Jordan would be back together anyways. Thinking of that, she messaged Jordan.

YFN: Where's my update??

She was at training so didn’t expect a response until that night, however.

“…background checks.”

YFN’s head shot up. They were talking about background checks for the employees they were deciding on. She wondered how in depth they would be and didn’t have to wonder for long as they began to discuss them in depth. Her eyes widened knowing that they must have done the exact same for her. Catherine noticed that.

“It’s standard procedure, I’m sure you can understand.”

She nodded. Of course, she could understand. They wouldn’t let anyone sit next to or run a business with the future Queen of England.

The day dragged on, though Catherine had made sure they all had several breaks and took the time to show YFN around Joe’s property. It truly was beautiful, yet she couldn’t miss the amount of security who were wandering around the estate, a few with their eyes on the pair.

“Can you…understand why I’m wanting to stay a silent figure in all of this?” She asked gently as they wandered through the garden. It was actually a day of decent weather, the sun poking through the clouds.

“I can, and I respect it. I’m also glad we’ve met. Everything makes much more sense now.”

“Fantastic. Now I know we’ve already agreed to keep this between just us, however there’s Lucy, correct?”

YFN nodded. She didn’t like the idea of keeping anything from her.

Catherine stopped and turned to her, taking her hands gently. She was taller than the little Australian of course, even more so with heels. “YFN…I know what it’s like to have to keep secrets. It’s not fun. I’ve seen it tear relationships and families apart…”

They way she held her eyes and spoke was so… motherly. So royal-like. Beyond that, she could see the pain in her eyes and she wondered just how much this woman had been through.

“I’m okay with you telling Lucy. I don't want your relationship to be affected, and I trust your judgement, but please stress to her to importance of secrecy. One leak and all that we’re trying to accomplish disappears.”

YFN relaxed a little. She could tell Lucy.

“Thank you, Cath. I really appreciate that.”

They were just settling down to dinner when Catherine was pulled aside for a phone call. Their meeting had ended shortly before that, YFN full up on information and motivation for the upcoming work she had to do. She worried a little about Barcelona.

Dory: We may have had sex. Then I cried and kicked her out at 10pm.

YFN choked on mashed potato. How had she managed to choke on the least chokeable form of potato?

YFN: What?!

Dory: When are you home?

Catherine walked back in then looking a little stressed and apologetic.

“I’m so sorry, duty calls back in London. I’m afraid we’ll have to cut this trip short. You’re more than welcome to stay here another day...”

“That’s okay, I can leave tomorrow if that works.”

It did work. Catherine finished her dinner and left apologetically and this time, with a gentle, motherly hug and promises of a bright future working together. It was strange being left in the large house alone with just Benjamin and a few staff wandering around. Her phone buzzed and it was her flight change being emailed, a change to tomorrow morning. YFN checked in and then replied to Jordan.

YFN: I’ll be home midday tomorrow.

She pocketed her phone. Another buzz. She pulled it back out.

Lucy: Hi, little one. Can I call?

[separatist-apologist]

The Wrong Place At The Right Time

Summary: And if I'm all dressed up, they might as well be looking at us

Read on AO3

--

Four words were enough to wreck her entire week. Strung together, they ruined her. Separated? Fine. 

Lucien will be there.

Feyre had the good sense to warn Elain at the beginning of the week, at least. Give her time to get used to the idea, to decide if she still wanted to go. Elain suspected Feyre had invited Lucien specifically to give Elain an out. Afterall: she hated Hewn City. She hated the way they looked at her, how they leered, their whispered slut and whore comments as she passed, tarring her with the same hateful brush they’d once painted her sisters. Guilty by association, for having the same last name, the same smile. 

If Elain hadn’t been such a coward, she might have asked why Lucien needed to be there. What could be happening that required his presence, that somber expression, those clenched hands? Elain had slunk up to her room, unmissed by the general revelry of the night, to pick through familiar letters. 

Lucien wrote. Elain read. She didn’t respond—that wasn’t what he wanted, wasn’t what he expected. They had their roles, and Elain was meant to witness him. Perhaps he thought she threw them all straight into the fire and that was what made him pour such vulnerability into the ink and parchment. Or perhaps he simply didn’t care if she saw this part of him. 

Elain read them like he was her religion. She’d found him in the spaces of his letters, in the way he looped his words. 

Lucien asked her for nothing and so Elain offered him just as much, unwilling to admit she would have given him anything he wanted if he put it to paper. If he spoke the words. And now he’d be in Hewn City, the first time she’d seen him since that first letter had been handed to her by a sheepish Rhysand, clearly embarrassed he had to be the messenger. Now the letters were just there, sitting on her bed untouched and unopened, unexposed to the suspicious eyes and unforgiving minds of the Night Court.

They’d never trust him if they saw the things he said. If they knew the things he wanted, the fears he harbored, the dreams he wouldn’t say to anyone else. And Elain knew it would all be used against him, so she never spoke of them either. This was her secret—something just for her. 

Knowing she’d see him soon, Elain did the only reasonable thing. She had a glass of whiskey for breakfast before making her way into the Palace of Threads and Jewels. 

She wouldn’t wear black. What a mockery it made of her, how everyone knew by sight that she was an interloper, outsider. No amount of spine would ever make that untrue, and if Lucien was coming, she wanted him fixated on her. She wanted to read about it in his next letter—how wrecked he’d been, how badly he wanted to touch her, where he’d put his fingers, his mouth, his teeth. 

If she was all dressed up, after all, he might as well look at her. Rubbing the glittering fabric between her fingers, Elain nodded before handing over more gold than she had the right to carry. “I need it quickly,” she’d said. No problem for the High Lady’s sister, which was perhaps unfair. Elain couldn’t find it in her to care. Not when the gown appeared the morning of their trip, nor when she pulled it out of the pale pink tissue paper to admire the way the beads glittered like starlight beneath the faelights.

She was never going to be the cold abyss of night but maybe, at least in Hewn City, she could be the burning heat of moonlight. Warmed by the sun, an echoing promise of what morning might bring if she only just held on. 

Elain didn’t dare go downstairs, even when she heard the commotion of Lucien’s arrival and Feyre’s high pitched delight at seeing her friend. She wanted to. Oh, how her limbs ached and buzzed, aware of him even when she wished she wouldn’t be. No—she needed this moment to be perfect, if only to read it through his eyes. So he couldn’t see her at all, if only to prolong the suspense.

To force him to see her exactly as she wanted to be seen. 

The dress was silver, soft against her skin and sharp to anyone who might reach out a hand to touch her unwanted. The gems that glittered doubled as knives, drawing blood if they were too forceful, too cruel. Only the gentlest hands could slide over her waist to pull her in for a dance. She’d picked a ballgown rather than something revealing, something that hid anything a lesser male might find fascinating and forced, instead, the gaze to remain on her face. Her eyes. Her mouth. 

The soft neckline exposed her collarbones and her neck, the long sleeves giving a glimpse only of her hands. She left her hair to tumble down her back to hide the exposed skin, leaving her a mystery, a fantasy. Elain could be anyone to whoever looked at her, which was nothing new. Men gazed at her, projecting what they wanted without considering who she might actually be.

Lucien could do the same, if he wanted. 

Though she hoped he wouldn’t. 

Elain descended the stairs in a fog, the last to arrive just as she’d planned. It looked like petulance—a woman so determined not to see a man that she’d made everyone wait on her. Elain kept her eyes on the wood beneath her feet, fingers skimming the rail as she all but floated down. There was a beat of silence before a murmuring of finally, though she didn’t notice who spoke the words. 

When Elain looked up at the gathered group, her eyes fell on Azriel first by virtue of him being largest and closest. She saw that familiar gaze—the projection, the fantasy, the hunger. How she could so easily lose every aspect of herself within it, reshaping every inch of her to be what he saw. It wouldn’t have been the first time—Elain was moldable. There was safety there—Graysen had destroyed her, but Azriel never could. He didn’t know her well enough, didn’t care to. He saw a fantasy and Elain could hide within it.

Even when he’d rejected her, there had been no pain. It wasn’t anything special, after all. He clearly hadn’t thought so, and neither did she. Looking at him evoked nothing but appreciation. He was beautiful—perhaps he employed similar methods. Why bother knowing him when he could be anything and anyone? It wasn’t as if Elain had paid any particular time to finding out what lurked beneath the pretty veneer. 

That made her uncomfortable, a mirror held to her face, reflecting herself wholly back. She turned her head, meaning to find a wall to stare at.

She found Lucien instead. His expression was unreadable, his one good russet eye gleaming with indifference. Both gold and brown flicked over her for a moment before he turned his own head, a muscle feathering in the cut of his jaw. Bound, auburn hair trailed behind the silver of his jacket and Elain wondered how he’d known.

If he’d known.

Of course he must have. Right? No one commented on it—why would they—and Elain blinked and they were gone, leaving behind the warmth and safety of Velaris for the horror that was Hewn City. Lucien blinked from the edge of the group, both eyes so round they looked drawn against his otherwise beautiful face. Had he been prepared for this? 

No one else seemed affected at all. They were used to the cruelty, to the casual nightmares that infected this place. Elain had long thought it didn’t need to exist the way it did, and it was allowed in some manner of tradition rather than practicality. Surely they weren’t all bad? Surely they put on the same masks Feyre and Rhysand wore? Or was it that even the Court of Dreamers like to indulge in a little cruelty at times, if only to purge it from their systems?

Seeing Lucien react made Elain feel settled—like she wasn’t making it all up in her head. She wondered what his letter would make of all this—the smooth, carved out stone and the vaulted ceilings. The walls adorned with swirling silver and that obsidian pair of thrones that served more as decoration than actual chairs. Rhys and Feyre, dressed in black so crushing it stole the light from around them, casting them as blackholes.

Behind them was Mor, unforgiving as she surveyed the room and flanked by the cold, unyielding brutality of Cassian and Azriel. Even Nesta managed to make the ice in her eyes an art, causing those who dared to look upon her to flinch back as though she’d physically struck them.

Lucien fell back a step, shoulder to shoulder with her despite the difference in their heights. Fingers brushed for only a moment, the warmth fleeting against the cold of the mountain. Elain wanted to grab his hands, to demand he tell her something true. This place is terrible, right? I’m not imagining it—I can’t fake it, can you?

Maybe he heard her thoughts, because those eyes of his slid toward her, eyebrows raised as if to say, what the fuck is this? 

Elain couldn’t help offering a silent response in return. Home, I guess. 

His eyes widened, not with surprise, but recognition. As if he was saying, Hell is where you make it.

She had to suppress her smile, ducking her head to hide behind thick, long curls. Somehow, though, she thought he caught it anyway. He’d tell her about it in his pretty prose, just as he’d done for the last six months. Every memory he had of her, put to paper for her to read as though he wanted her to know what he saw, what he knew. 

Proof, she thought, that he caught the little slip ups—saw the light beneath the cracks, diluting the shadow she felt lost in. He wasted no time describing her physical beauty in conventional terms. Lucien focused on the parts—bright eyes, tapping fingers, swinging feet. A curl caught in the breeze, a beam of light illuminating hues of gold and green. He wrote about her like she was something so far elevated that only the poetry of his words could ever do it justice. And he wrote about himself the way a tree might describe the squirrels beneath. Appreciative for the branches, the shade, worthy to look, to appreciate, but to perhaps not to speak. 

Rhysand gave some brutal speech that Elain didn’t absorb, didn’t care to hear. Those words made it hard to look at him in the aftermath, made it difficult to like him at all. Better to pretend he didn’t like any part of this and someone else was continuing this spectacle. Elain, instead, took her seat, the furthest from the High Lord and Lady.  Lucien whispered something to Nesta, who, with raised eyebrows, nodded her head and stood so they could swap.

And just like that, he was seated beside her rather than at Feyre’s elbow. Wasn’t he the emissary to this court for the evening? Surely he wanted to converse with the ruling monarchs rather than the woman who never spoke to him at all. But Lucien’s broad shoulders relaxed, his hand resting against the thigh of his white pants. Feyre crawled into Rhys’s lap, touching his neck, his face, his chest, while Nesta immediately jumped to her feet to join Cassian on the floor. 

So maybe it didn’t matter where they sat, Elain rationalized. Nesta’s chair would have remained empty regardless, and Feyre could simply slide into it if she wanted. Elain dared a look at Lucien and his glazed expression before balling her hands in her lap to suppress the overwhelming urge to touch him. One of them would have to end the stalemate between them, would have to break. She’d known it ever since she’d imposed the silence in the first place.

And Lucien did what he’d always done—he spoke first. 

“I’ve been here before,” he said, his voice deeper than she remembered. Hoarser, too. She couldn’t help the incline of her neck, the way her body shifted in her chair to look at him. “In a manner of speaking.”

“When?” she heard herself reply, so quiet she might have whispered it in his ear.

Lucien didn’t look at her at all, expression set with a grimness that betrayed his own nightmares. “Under the Mountain,” he said. “I didn’t think…I suppose I see where Amarantha took her inspiration.”

There it was again—that urge to touch him. Elain suppressed it, though she didn’t quite know why. She didn’t need to be his mate to know he would have welcomed it. Allowed it, without the expectation of anything else. 

Elain lapsed back into silence, not because it was demanded but because she had no idea what to say to him. This wasn’t polite conversation. He hadn’t told her he liked her dress, that she was beautiful—she’d told him something personal. Something vulnerable. And when Lucien spoke like that, Elain merely listened, read, remembered. He didn’t seem upset, though in truth how would she know?

And when he stood to be closer to Feyre, their foreheads nearly touching as they conspired, Elain felt a little jealous, unfairly. She could have him like that, if she wanted. Could have been the Archeron he whispered his secrets to with his mouth rather than his fingers. She knew before he ever stood to look at her, that Lucien was going to leave with only a faint goodbye. That he’d seen whatever it was he needed to say, had the information he needed and that was all the time Elain would be allotted.

He’d be relegated back to fantasy until Feyre summoned him again, and Elain would try and be what he wanted without letting him have any of it at all. Every part of her was screaming when he turned his attention to her, that mask slipping for only a moment so she could see the truth of them both laid bare in this terrible place. His yearning, a match for her own, stared back at her. His eyes, screaming too—ask me to stay.

The resignation as he bricked that wall back up to offer her a polite half bow. “I’ll take my leave of you—” “Dance with me.” Elain hadn’t meant to say it. The words had forced themselves out of her with such a rush the consonants tripped over one another, slurring together until they were practically unintelligible. Lucien’s spine straightened, betraying no evidence of the shock Elain was certain graced her own features. 

“It would be my pleasure,” he assured her as flame ignited in his one good eye. Sunlight seemed to burn against the other, and when he extended his hand, Elain found familiar golden warmth ribboning along her bones. They so rarely touched that it felt indecent right then with so many eyes on them. 

It felt like they were doing something they shouldn’t, that was better reserved for a bedroom than a dance floor, and all they were doing was holding hands. Elain let him guide her out of her chair, wondering if her dress would slice apart his skin or if Lucien knew the right way to avoid injury. If he knew exactly how to touch her, missing the thorns for the blooming petals instead. 

Elain hated the music of Hewn City—it was too strange, impossible to dance well to. Perhaps the fae preferred the grinding displays, the sweating bodies, the declaration of obvious intentions. But Elain missed the subtlety of human dances—the careful, precise touches, glances that lingered, bodies that never quite touched. Foolish, she thought, to think Lucien would know the steps or would even want it.

And yet…and yet he didn’t take her to the dance floor where Nesta was holding court. Lucien, with his fingers warm and reassuring, walked her through the archway and back into the night. Only then, with the thudding music a half-distant memory, did he exhale a shaking breath. “I assumed you meant somewhere…else.” “Where—” she bit her bottom lip, because maybe she’d misread this situation. Or maybe he had, too. The dance had to happen before anything else could, and if he skipped it, his letters would have to keep vigil in her fireplace. 

“Trust me,” was his only reply, with an earnestness she’d read before. Many times, even. Elain decided she would, that she would give him this one opportunity to prove the man in the letters was the same standing in the entryway to the mountain, rejecting cruelty for something sweeter, something unmasked and real. 

He tugged gently, and before she took a step, Elain said, “I hate it in there, too.” Lucien regarded her, a tendril of hair sweeping over her cheek. Those eyes of his softened at the edges, just enough to silently proclaim, I know you do. 

They walked out of the ward, the cold air a rebuke of Lucien’s inherent warmth. Was that Autumn, then? Or something else, some innate magic he seemed to carry with him. Gold shimmered from the bronze of his skin and too late, Elain realized Lucien, too, was offering the same amount of skin she was. His hands, his throat, his face—look at my eyes, my lips, my hair. No half unbuttoned shirts revealing swirling tattoos, no armor showing off bulging muscles, or weapons strapped menacingly against his legs. Had he planned it?

Or did he know?

Warmth blazed around them in a bubble as the smell of salt and coconut swept over them. Lucien’s winnow was less snow and cold, and more sand and sea water, and when it faded, Elain didn’t feel so off balance. Looking around, she found herself on a terrace overlooking a violet hued ocean comprised of glittering diamonds and white shores. White marble curved along the balcony, while a little table held a carafe of wine or water—she wasn’t sure, didn’t care—for some unknown guest.

“Where…are we?” she managed, so taken in by this small scene she could hardly breathe. It was warm. Hot, even, despite the night sky. She regretted her sleeves, the heaviness of her skirts, the length of her hair curling gently against the back of her neck.

“Day,” Lucien replied, coming to stand just behind her without touching. Close enough she could feel his heat, too. Elain was tempted to lean back against him, to let him strengthen her with his solid build. 

“Why Day?” she asked him.

“It’s my home,” was his simple reply. 

Unthinkingly, Elain said, “You didn’t tell me that.”

There was a pause, a sweeping realization that oh. She read my letters. Elain didn’t dare look back, didn’t want to see whatever it was he was thinking so loudly. Lucien cleared his throat.

“I ah…wasn’t sure…how I felt about it. If I wanted to say anything…even to you.”

“What are you leaving out?” Elain dared to ask, thinking she was the only person in the world who could demand honesty from the famed liar. 

Lucien chuckled. “Too much, I think. But I brought you here for a dance, not to overburden you with my problems. Come. I want to show you something else.”

Tearing her gaze from this new, warm world, Elain followed Lucien into blazing light. Of course Day would glow golden, some magic causing sunbeams to filter through the faelights hanging overhead. He looked alive here, a rainbow of colors draped across his skin. The silver seemed brighter, and she wondered if hers was just as iridescent as his own. If she looked happy, alive, warm, in the same way. 

Shaking off the cold, the cruelty, Elain tried to map and memorize their route through winding halls of high, open windows, draping ivy flowers, and pretty artwork. Down sweeping steps she could have floated toward him like a cloud rather than plodding as she’d done just an hour or so before, until they were alone in the grandest ballroom she’d ever seen in her life. Big enough to fit a thousand people, with a dais that obviously belonged to the High Lord. Lucien wasn’t touching her, though she wished he would. Instead, he left her to make her way inside while he strode toward that throne, jogging the three steps to the top to fiddle with something she couldn’t see.

Another balcony, wide enough to fit her entire bedroom back home, curved on both ends of the room, separated only by sheer curtains caught in a friendly breeze. Elain might have gone to see what kind of view they both offered had music not filled the space so completely, conforming to the grooves of the smooth walls, the domed ceiling overhead. It blanketed her like a breath of air, causing her to turn for its source.

Lucien drank in her delight. “Allow me some secrets, hm?”

“You don’t know what I was going to say,” Elain protested, standing in place as she waited for him to come closer.

“You were going to ask me how I managed this, right? Magic,” he added before bowing with a flourish. “I have to make the most of this dance.”

Because there might not be another. Still, she was grinning and thought that she wouldn’t mind a second, or even a third, depending on how the first one went. Lucien offered her his hand the way a human man might, offering her the chance to reject him if she wished. Elain took it, inkling her head, and then her other hand was on his shoulder, his sliding along her waist so smoothly, so fluidly it was like the beads were made of the smoothest pearl. 

“I’ll do my best not to step on your feet,” Lucien said, holding her gaze. His body was inches from her own, intimate and still polite, his steps in time with the music that wasn’t familiar, and yet not at odds with what she’d had growing up.

“Have you been practicing?” Elain dared to ask. Another thing he’d kept from his letters. Color bloomed over his cheeks and how did anyone call him a fox? His every emotion, every secret, was laid bare before her.

“I thought, since you were human…well. I figured I might need to adapt.”

The thought that Lucien might have done something she’d never had another man do—try and change pieces of himself for her, rather than demand she change shape to fit in his puzzle-piece world—astounded Elain. Something so small, that might never matter to anyone other than her. Elain loved to dance, loved the social gatherings that facilitated it, loved the push and pull, the will-they-wont-they, the eroticism of a fleeting touch, the promise in a glance.

“What else did you adapt?” Elain dared to ask him. Because it was allowed, here. She could drop her guard a little, make her intentions more plain. 

“The letters,” he admitted, spinning away from him. Had there been other dancers, Elain would have been swept away by another man, forced to watch Lucien while held by a stranger, hoping he, too, would be searching for her across the crowded room. “I ah…well. It occurred to me that I could court you like a human man and maybe you’d like that. But I’m not a human…or a man, really. And after some reading, I found a familiar set of scripts that seemed to begin with letters, and then house calls, a conversation with your father and…anyway, you never responded, but I kept writing. And you were reading them.”

It was a question masquerading as a statement. “Yes,” she agreed, not looking away from him. There was no space to lie within their dance. “Many times.” Lucien took a breath, pulling his hand from hers so he could lift her in the air while Elain gripped his shoulders. Oh, but she wanted him—she wanted him so much it made her knees buckle when she was back on the ground. Of course he’d been courting her. She hadn’t realized, thinking he was merely using her as an outlet to say all the things he couldn’t normally.

He was telling her who he really was. Beyond the facade, beyond the masks. Lucien the fox, the High Lords son, emissary to Spring or Night or Day—all titles, all meaningless. The letters were the man beneath—the male, she supposed—and Elain, too used to playing a fantasy, too, didn’t realize what he was doing until he told her plainly.

“Is it working?” Lucien asked, pulling her back just a little closer than before. His steps were flawless. Or maybe they only seemed that way because she liked him, and could see nothing else but pretty perfection.

“What if it was?” she asked coyly, just to see how he’d respond.

“I’d ask you to dance again. And another after that. And I might pretend there was a queue of other men anxiously waiting for us to part ways so they might have a chance with you, thwarted by my charming manners and my fluid dancing.”

“And what then?” Elain pressed, if only because she was having fun. 

Lucien arched a brow, and she wondered how difficult this all was for him. To pretend to be something he wasn’t, to play her games rather than waiting for her to just give in. 

“Well…I think I’d take you to the balcony and I’d thank you for humoring me. And I might kiss you, if you seemed like you’d allow it. And you’d remind me I’m impolite and I’d smile—but it would be charming, so you’d forgive me. And then I’d take you home and hope that the next time I wrote you a letter, you invite me to call on you.”

“Is that how a fae male would court a female?” she dared to ask him.

Heat flared in eyes of both flesh and metal. No. It was a dangerous question…but one she wanted to know, anyway. Maybe, she rationalized, there was some middle ground between them. Or maybe she didn’t want him to take her home just yet. Maybe she wanted to stay, to wake up beside him, and pretend she was wholly fae and see what happened when the sun replaced the moon. 

“No,” he admitted, their steps slowing to fit the shifting music. Lucien’s grip on her waist tightened, bringing with it the smell of warm salt. He wanted her—she’d known it, of course. But to see it, while he held her, while he admitted he’d been trying to court her, was a different thing entirely. 

“How would you?”

“I’d take you upstairs to my bedroom and I’d peel your dress off your body with your teeth. I’d make you see my devotion with my tongue rather than my fingers, and hope you understood what I was trying to say.”

“I’m just a stranger to you,” she managed, the words tumbling out of her gracelessly. Aren’t I?

Lucien pressed his lips together, leashing whatever it was he felt. “Then why do I feel like I’ve known you my entire life?”

The song ended so abruptly Elain nearly pitched forward. Lucien, too, stumbled back, caught off guard by the silence. Neither moved, her hand still clasped in his, him holding her waist, their breath mingling in the space between their bodies. It wasn’t the balcony, like he’d said, but it was still a moment, wasn’t it? A human one, even. Elain inclined her head, drinking in the sight of his delirious relief. 

Kiss me.

Lucien lowered his head, his mouth touching hers for the briefest of moments. If they’d both been human, that was all that would have been allowed. Elain felt the familiar flare of heat in her stomach before it spiraled into an inferno, reminding her that she might have been human once.

But now she was fae, with all the instincts that came with it. Separated, Elain could pretend otherwise, but together, tied on two ends by that unbreakable golden cord, all the need she’d been denying suddenly broke through ivy coated lattices. 

Were those here hands on his neck, pulling his closer? Her feet surging onto tiptoes, trying to close the distance between them? Her teeth sinking into his bottom lip, earning that echoing groan from Lucien? 

Yes.

Yes.

Yes. 

He tasted sweet, heady and warm, like he’d been napping in the summer sun and when her lips parted so he could taste her, Elain thought it might ruin her entirely. Every possible thought that would have stopped her flew out the window and instead, Elain wound her arms tighter, pressing herself against him. 

It was Lucien who pulled back, chest heaving, tendrils of hair loose from the leather band. He looked wild. Like an animal. 

“I—” he took a breath, like it pained him to speak at all. “I should take you home before…”

Before he tried to take her to bed. Elain didn’t want to go home. It wasn’t home, besides, some small voice in her head screamed furiously, reminding her that it belonged to Feyre, and Elain was, functionally, just a guest. Out of place. Alone. 

“I don’t want to go home,” Elain told him, sliding her hands down his chest to fist them against the fabric of his jacket. “Don’t take me home.”

Lucien was shaking, holding himself still. Roughly, he asked, “Where would you like me to take you, then?”

She didn’t know if she could say the words. She shouldn’t, right? It was impolite. Unbecoming. Lucien was the embodiment of a courtly knight so many human women dreamt of. She could have told him to take her to another room, after all. 

And maybe…maybe it was okay, just this once, to be fae. To meet him in the middle, like she’d thought she wanted. Swallowing, Elain squared her shoulders and reminded herself she could do hard things. She would do hard things. 

“To your bed.”

Relief washed over his features and still, he asked, “Are you certain?”

“Yes.”

Her feet were off the ground, body swept against his chest before she’d finished the consonants. “Faster, if I walk,” Lucien ground out, and she wondered how he figured. Unless he didn’t think he could walk beside her, which was valid—Elain’s hands seemed to have a mind of their own, interested in careful exploration of the man—male—before her. What would it be like? Would he be quick about it, venting his pent-up need like Graysen had? Or would it be like their dance? Fluid and careful, betraying the immortality stretching between them. He had lifetimes to learn every inch of her—it didn’t have to happen in a night.

Elain blinked when Lucien got the double doors to his bedchamber open, kicking them closed again with his foot.

“You left out some information about your new home, I think,” she murmured, grazing her mouth against his exposed neck. Why was it so erotic to touch him here? The only think she could see, the few bits of flesh she was allowed.

Lucien had her through the adjoining chambers for sitting and hosting, all but slamming his bedroom door closed with a finality that thrilled her. It, too, was absurdly massive. Too big for an emissary—and built, she thought as she took walls edged in gold and a ceiling made nothing of windows—of a bed large enough for six and a canopy of gauzy white.

“Helion is my father,” was all Lucien said before he was over her, back pressed against soft, satin sheets. It was a revelation on top of revelations—Lucien, a different High Lord's son, a prince of this realm, just as his mouth drew forth the realization that she’d never really been kissed before. Not truly. Not like this. It was both secrets told and secrets broken, a promise unspoken. 

She’d make him tell her everything in the morning. So what, she decided? It changed nothing, other than Elain could stay here if she wanted and Lucien’s permission would be explicit. Even Feyre couldn’t argue, though Elain doubted her sister would. Besides, asking him the details risked the removal of his solid musculature and Elain didn’t think she’d ever felt safer than she did blanketed beneath his body. 

Lucien kissed her like a dying man, like he had only a few seconds left and this was all he wished to do. Desperation clung to madness, drawing them together like crashing waves against unyielding rocks. His hands stayed at her shoulders, tangling through her hair, touching her face, her neck, her collarbone. And Elain did the same, pulling that long, thick curtain of auburn hair free, letting Lucien be wild. 

In the middle between the human woman and the fae male was this. The taste of him, his tongue against her own, the rise and fall of his chest. It was all too much, building and building with nowhere to go until release was all Elain could think of. Words bubbled in her throat, the same she knew were echoing in his skull because when Lucien pulled back, one hand holding the entire side of her face, he spoke them first like he always did.

“I’m yours,” he swore, the oath ribboning between them. “And you are mine.”

Elain undid the top button of his jacket in response. It wasn’t the time to repeat them, to make that same vow. She’d know it when it was, wouldn’t sully his promise by rushing what was promising to be a perfect night. Forehead pressed against her own, Lucien closed his eyes and just breathed while Elain made her way down each glossy button, pushing them through the fabric until it was tossed gracelessly to the floor. There was, of course, another shirt beneath which irked her.

He smiled when she yanked a little too hard, pulling it from his breeches. When it was gone, too, she was left to admire a broad expanse of flawless skin, glimmering with that inner, golden light she’d never noticed before.

Elain kissed his bare shoulder. Lucien shuddered. “Do that again,” he whispered, bracing this body weight on his elbows. With a gentle push, she had him on his back, herself on her side so she could look at him. 

“Where else do you like to be kissed?” she wondered, doing exactly as she asked.

“I like everything you do,” he said, eyes fluttering shut. That made her smile. Lucien seemed so new here, so inexperienced that any insecurities Elain might have had were washed away beneath his labored breathing and his hands skimming down her lace covered spine. If he liked everything she did, she could do no wrong, she reasoned. And so she took her time with him, mapping out the grooves and contours of his chest with her mouth, kissing to see which little patch of skin drew a shaky sigh or caused his fingers to fist in the sheets. 

The further she got to his belt, the more Lucien’s hips arched into the air. This was more restraint, she decided with some glee. She doubted a fae female would make him wait so long, would spend time touching him when there were surely more pleasurable things they would be doing.

She asked, “Do you like this?”

“Yes,” he gasped, eyes opening to look at her. “Yes.”

The problem, of course, was once Elain reached his mouth again, she wasn’t quite sure what came next. Her only experience was with Graysen, who had been perfectly polite, if not a little underwhelming. She’d assumed with time, and experience, they’d get better. Now, though, Elain’s memories of kissing in the dark before Graysen was pushing inside her seemed to do her a disservice. Should she remove his pants? Demure politely? Caught between fae and human, Elain didn’t notice Lucien rolling them over, laying her out even as clever, experienced fingers made quick work of her own buttons.

She was thinking too loudly, she supposed. Lucien looked down at her with such heart aching softness that Elain was the one to push the dress off her shoulders, pulling her hands through the sleeves before shimming out entirely. No corset—those weren’t a thing in Prythian—which left the thin, white slip and her undergarments.

“Would you like me to go first?” Lucien offered, misreading her excitement for nerves. She wasn’t going to tell him no. Elain nodded, rising up on her elbows as Lucien half tripped out of the bed in his urgency. He watched her while she watched his hands, practically holding her breath. 

Show me, show me, show me.

It wasn’t voyeurism, so why did it feel like it? Like she was seeing something forbidden to her, that she had no right to look upon? She did try, in her defense, to look at his legs first—but truly, all Elain was interested in was what lay between. The thick, long length of him, jutting outward, betraying just how badly he wanted her in a visceral, undeniable way. 

Vulnerable, she thought with no small amount of affection. It was what convinced her to sit up, swinging her legs over the bed so he could be the one to watch. Swallowing hard, certain he’d like whatever he found, she pulled the nightdress over her head. Lucien’s little groan, stifled as he clenched his fingers to keep from reaching for her, was all the encouragement Elain needed.

She took the rest off quickly before meeting his gaze. There was no turning back, now. Even if she told him to stop, they’d always have this memory.

She’d always know what came next. Lucien took two shaky steps before he fell to the ground, knees crashing against marble so roughly the unlit chandelier overhead clinked with displeasure. Elain squealed when he caught her ankles, fingers wrapping around the bone, and hauled her forward. 

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her inner thigh. 

“Why would I do that?” Was her whispered reply. “I like everything you do.”

She was also far too curious as to what he was going to do to tell him to stop. Her usual embarrassment didn’t exist here, nor did her sense of propriety. Do whatever you like, she wanted to scream at him as he inched closer and closer to the space between her legs. 

Pressing an open mouth kiss to her cunt, Lucien’s eyes found hers in the fading dark. Waiting, she realized, for her to tell him to stop. Elain wasn’t going to—she wanted him to keep going. To end the teasing, the finish what they’d begun and give her a reason to see him again. 

She felt his relief swirling around the bond between them, his shoulders relaxing as he drew her closer. Was this what he liked? Elain certainly enjoyed seeing him kneel before her, his face half obscured by red hair, the other half obscured by her leg. And oh, Elain liked the sight almost as much as she liked his tongue, teasing at first, unaware of how desperately aroused she was.

He figured it out, perhaps tasting the wetness, or realizing Elain was in danger of falling off the bed in a bid to draw him closer. Lucien buried his face between her legs, lapping like an unrestrained, wild animal. He was starving and she was a meal, his tongue gliding tirelessly over her clit until Elain was panting through parted lips, nonsensically begging.

That wildfire raged, was an inferno nothing would ever be able to quell. The best she could hope for was his fingers digging into her thighs, holding her against him so she knew she wasn’t alone in this. The flames would consume them—together. 

Elain came with a scream so undignified it was unbefitting anything she was trying to pretend to be. It was honest, though—the pleasure coiling through her stripping her of all other pretense before laying her utterly bare. This is what I am, Elain might have said had she any capacity for speech at all. I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t like it.

They fell to the floor in a graceless heap, dragging the duvet with them not out of necessity but by accident. It was merely collateral damage in her desperation to kiss him, to be fully beneath him again. Lucien didn’t bother trying to lay it out or make things comfortable on his knees. The cold marble was a shock against her overheated skin, the blanket drowning out the world as it thudded over their heads.

Elain kissed him, eyes open so she could look, could see him staring back with delirious wonder. The head of his cocked nudged between her legs, one last question with one last obvious answer. She didn’t have to say a word, her tongue in his mouth when he pushed himself inside. Lucien likely didn’t mean to bite down on her lip so hard it flooded their mouths with blood. Nor did Elain mean to scratch her nails so violently down his back he arched against the pain. The response to sharing a body was visceral, overwhelming, incandescent. 

Something in the world seemed to sing with approval, watching for just a fleeting second before vanishing, leaving them to their own devices. Lucien held himself still for a moment, adjusting to the feel of her body and letting her decide if she’d rather call it all a night.

Everything was perfect.

This was right.

Holding his gaze, her fingers brushing the scars that decorated one side of his face, Elain made her vow. “I’m yours. And you are mine.”

Lucien shifted his hips, pulling himself out as far as he could bare before thrusting back in. He shuddered at her words, forehead pressed against her own with all the unspoken things hanging between them. There was time, she thought, pulling him by the shoulders so no light or air could penetrate between their bodies. She was still coming down from the high of her first orgasm and learned quickly there would be no reprieve. Not for the male writhing above her, a feral gleam in his eye.

He was going to wring every inch of pleasure he could get from her, and then a little more if he thought he could get away with it. Elain sank her teeth into the flesh of his shoulder, biting hard. Maybe she didn’t want to be so nice—not right now, anyway. And maybe there was room for every created version of her. The lady who smiled and the woman beneath who wanted to scream, and maybe even the female that liked her first time with her mate happening on the floor. All these versions, coalescing into one person that Lucien wanted. 

Ruinous wreck and all.

They were, at least, matched on that front. There was no pretending Lucien wasn’t a wreck, that he hadn’t told her as much in every letter he’d sent her. And here they were.

Together.

There was no sound but their combined breaths or the occasional whimpering groan from Lucien, his forehead buried in her neck, fingers bruising her hips as he drove them higher and higher toward a mutual climax. Elain came mere seconds before, shattering with a cry he swallowed before offering one of his own. It wasn’t enough, even as she was devoured by the rising flames, swallowed whole by heat and light. She wanted more—wanted all of it, all over again.

Lucien, too, if his frantic kissing was any indication. Long after he was spent, he kept kissing her, catching his breath and settling his hips. He never pulled himself out, though. And Elain didn’t ask him to, long after they both just laid there, his head on her chest, eyes half closed. 

“Can I stay until morning?” she asked him.

“It is morning,” Lucien replied, pulling at the corner of the blanket shrouding them so she could see the blinding pinks and oranges of a newborn sunrise. “And you can stay forever, if you like.”

Elain pressed a kiss beneath his jaw.

Maybe she would.

[prince-liest]

I’m a sex-repulsed ace, and reading the latest chapter of 666 (as well as your analysis here on Tumblr) made me realize that I have been subconsciously thinking about MY OWN sexuality from an allo perspective? And that it has kinda been messing me up?? Like, ever since I learned that sexual attraction was actually a Thing and that it’s Important To People, I had been carrying around a fear of being deficient in some way and not being able to love to the same extent as allos. (1)

Even though I know logically that’s complete garbage and totally untrue, I felt left out of the loop because people seemed to care strongly about this thing I couldn’t even imagine. Whenever it looked like a relationship might happen I panicked for a reason that I couldn’t understand. But now I’m starting to realize that it’s because I was subconsciously terrified of an ‘ulterior motive’ behind the other person’s reasons for wanting to be with me. (2) That part of the reason they even cared was because of something I don’t experience. So thank you, because this realization just clicked into place while reading your work. The thing is, this way of thinking was just internalized in such a way that I didn’t even realize it was there until literally this week. And I think you’re right; one of the main reasons behind that is because I’ve always consumed media written from an allo perspective. (3) If ace/aros are shown at all, they’re depicted as “lacking” and their character development usually revolves around being “fixed” by the story. When I was ~10 years old my mom sometimes let me watch the Big Bang Theory with her (looking back, maybe not the best decision). Anyways, there was one episode deep into the series where Sheldon (who for the past nineish seasons was probably the closest thing to mainstream ace rep) has sex with his girlfriend for the first time. (4) Afterwards, he says something along the lines of “that was better than I thought it would be”, and it’s presented as a Very Good Thing and a big step in their relationship. I think a lifetime of stuff like that makes it very easy to internalize aphobia and feel like the lesser part of the relationship. Or to feel like the other partner is making a huge sacrifice to be with you. That got wayy too long, sorry. All that was just a lot of words to say that I appreciate you. Take care of yourself!(5)

The portrayal of asexuality that you see in media being almost exclusively as you described is very tedious to me because it presumes that something is inherently lacking in aro/aceness rather than that feeling of "lacking" being something that is induced by societal norms. Actually, one of the things that I find additionally alienating is that fandom spaces specifically have been getting better and better about ace characters - but got damn does fandom not jive with aromanticism. Like, a character doesn't want to fuck? That's becoming a liiiittle more fine, it's 2024, we stan consent. But not shipping someone romantically?? Not so easy, now.

I'm glad that my work has been something that resonated with you in this respect! Alastor cares a lot about his reputation as a demon but is pretty blatantly a person who could not possibly give less of a shit about being "wrong" for not being experiencing romantic or sexual attraction. The explanation Viv gave at one point for his own understanding of himself (that he thinks he's just "waiting for the right woman") actually stuck out to me a lot because it's a very "well, nothing is wrong with me for not feeling anything, it's the world that's failed to produce a suitable person" perspective.

But having that kind of confident perspective of your own rightness in the world is really not often portrayed in media, or even in fandom, which even ten years ago was still in the throes of standardizing "Oh, no! Me, gay? These feelings are so wrong!" style m/m content and is honestly not that far off from essentially that for aro/ace characters.

Anyway, all of that is to say that there's not yet much out there that doesn't frame allo/amatonormative values as the default that "even aro/ace people can (and should want to) achieve," and that it's really fun to write a fic that is unequivocally from the perspective of a character who is aroace and doesn't see it as even remotely a fault in himself. Does he have moments where he's a little confused and trying to process how things fit for him? Absolutely. But he just doesn't strike me as the kind of guy who thinks he owes romance to Vox of all people, hahaha. I've written him trying to conform to allo/amatonormativity more with Mimzy, because I think the social standards of their time could push him into it, but Vox? Absolutely not, he does not respect Vox enough for it to even enter his mind.

And then, on the other hand, writing it from an aroace perspective centers the way that romantic and sexual interest can feel like a betrayal of a good thing. With a character like Alastor, it frames romantic and sexual attraction the same alien way that we usually see aromanticism and asexuality framed as.

In the end, this is just one of a plethora of different experiences that aro/ace people can have, but it's one that I really wanted to see represented more, so I'm very happy to write it. I'm glad that you're enjoying it!

[deviousdeliciousness]

I'm always watching you Pt. 1

Here is where we've got our borrower being the oblivious one, and our obsessive giant just can't get enough of her~

TWs: stalking, invasion of privacy, and lowkey (highkey?) yandere

~~~~~~~~~

It'd been a couple of months now since Leela had moved into this new home, her last (being the one to the right of this one) having become uninhabitable after the humans had all moved out for good, leaving nothing for her to scavenge.

She was thankful for the final spur to change her own place of residency, though. Her new home and its singular inhabitant were much better - it wasn't even a fair comparison! He always had food laying around to take crumbs from, he was a bit of a klutz with losing small things and forgetting about them (much to Leela's continued joy), he lived alone and didn't entertain guests, and he was perfectly, blissfully oblivious to her existence, not suspicious at all.

It was nothing like her last place, with a whole family of humans to worry about spotting her and more than one of them being meticulous cleaners to the point it had become quite the task for her to scavenge enough food for a single full night's meal.

Really, the only small, insignificant issue she had here was this... feeling that she'd been getting. It'd started only a day or two after she moved in, and from then on, it'd become a near constant thing.

Honestly, at this point, she'd grown quite used to it, brushing it off as a quirk of moving homes again for the first time in so long.

But every now and then, it'd catch up to her, that feeling, the creeping, prickling sensation that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end and sweat bead along her spine. If she had to equate the feeling to anything, it was like the one time she'd been prowled on by a cat, barely managing to escape with her life.

It was the feeling of being watched - watched by a predator.

Now, she shook her head, firmly pushing aside the notion. It was obviously untrue, and it wouldn't do her any good to feed into her paranoia.

No, she wasn't in any more danger than usual for a borrower, and she most certainly wasn't being watched.

Huffing softly to herself with a wry little smile, she hoisted her sack over her shoulder and set out towards the entrance to her nest, ready for another day of successful borrowing to further stock up her stores.

The only actual problem she had with living here was that the giant tenant was something of a shut-in, seeming to work from home, and he rarely ever left. In fact, even his groceries seemed to be delivered straight to his doorstep!

But that was okay. Really, it was!

Her new giant was rather... lacking, in terms of self-awareness.

She muffled a giggle to herself, pressing her palm to her lips to smother her grin as she recalled the few (or, well, more than a few now that she thought about it) times where the human had walked right into the room she was in and never even came close to noticing her, even when she was practically in plain sight!

She finally allowed herself a little smile at the recollection, fondly shaking her head.

It was almost endearing - for a giant.

And it meant that she felt perfectly safe to go out to do some foraging now, even in the broad daylight with the oh-so-tall giant sitting right at home.

-

Silas bit his lip and shivered in pleasure as he watched his sweet little guest scamper between the shadows along the floor, her hair tied up with a plastic little clip - the pastel blue one this time. It was his favorite one of her collection, and he briefly allowed himself to entertain the fantasy that she'd worn it just for him. His eyelids lowered to half mast at the notion, and he released a low, enraptured hum, a hazed breath gusting over his lower lip.

A moment later, he swallowed languidly, and he nudged aside his idle daydreams with efficiency of many long hours of practice.

She wasn't wearing it for him, he knew. Not yet.

For now, his let his gaze seem to stay unerringly on his computer in front of him as it always did. His peripheral vision was better than most, and it was a trait he'd been making liberal use of in the past few months since his heart-stealing, precious little doll had come into his life - into his home.

He had to bite his lip again to hold back a croon as he watched her climb as nimble as a fairy onto the kitchen counter to his left, with him sitting directly in her line of sight (and him conversely in hers) from where he'd taken up residence at his dining room table.

She only spared him a brief glance, dismissing his presence as easy as anything. If Silas hadn't know any better, he would've thought she was teasing him.

But he did know better, unfortunately. After all, it was his own hard work that had gotten the both of them to this point. His sweet fairy had been so heart-breakingly skittish at first, jumping at the slightest sound and flinching at the mere sight of him.

It had hurt, truthfully, but he'd never dared let it show. It wasn't her own fault after all, that she didn't understand him yet.

Instead, he'd been meticulous in changing her reactions to him. He slowly but surely convinced his precious little creature that he was just a harmless, oblivious human being, nothing like whatever made her so upsettingly wary of his presence.

Why would she have to fear him if he never seemed to notice anything around him to even come close to being able to cause her any harm?

Oh, it had been difficult, and at times he had wanted to cave into his desires and turn to drink in her presence directly (to reach over and catch her with his bare hands and hold her close and-), but he never did. He was rather prideful of this fact. And there was a saying, wasn't there? That slow and steady wins the race?

Silas felt a curl of warmth low in his gut as he watched his adorable guest putter around on his countertop, gathering the fresh crumbs he'd purposefully left on the surface despite his distaste for being so untidy.

Yes, for now, this was plenty. For now, he would sate himself through these less direct means.

It was true that the miniature cameras he'd procured and hidden in her nest never did her justice, but at least they were enough for now as the only way he could content himself with watching her all safe and warm and tuckered out in her adorable little burrow beneath the wooden slats of the closet of the spare bedroom. It had been rather easy to find her precious nest (she almost always headed in the direction of the guest bedroom after she finished her foraging, after all), but it had still been quite the exhilarating discovery for him to pull up a loose board and find what could only be said nest, empty at the time and fluffed with downy feathers and old cotton socks. It was far less than she deserved, of course, and he had had to fight back the immediate, intense urge to find her and scoop her up and away from the hovel. The only reason he hadn't done so was his self-awareness of the misunderstanding such an abrupt turn in his behavior could cause.

And he could admit that her little self-made home within his own was heart-throbbingly enchanting in its entitlement - as if she was staking a claim upon him like he dreamed of doing to her. So he let her be, for now.

One day (one day soon), though, he would watch her sleep before him, curled up and warm and safe in the palm of his hand, his to hold and keep and love forever.

-

Hhehhehehuuhuhuhuh yandere giant, here we come!!~~ :33333

Ya'll I haven't given this a read through yet so hopefully any mistakes are minimal!!! Hope you enjoyed tho!~

[madamekenobi]

Imagine you and Anakin Skywalker decide to play truth and dare…(+21)

***

He comes for a visit, that Jedi who once helped you out with enemies who used you as a shield against these knights. He saved you and you two ended up becoming friends… even though part of you wishes for more.

But you keep things to yourself out of respect for him and his long term girlfriend, Padme Amidala. You still keep these sparks of attraction buried deep even after they broke up.

Friendship is worthier than sentimental bullshit, you decide it. But there are moments when nights are too warm and, lonely, you use your hand in between your legs thinking of him. Wishing he’d do naughty things to you. Your friends once suggested looking for casual flings to help you out but what does it matter? You simply don’t work that way.

You then get yourself dressed casually. You pick a black shirt with strap, finding no need to use your bra, and a black & red skirt plus wearing high heels because Anakin is tall.

Just as you are preparing to receive him, bell rings. And when you go opening the door, Anakin nearly falls back. He never expected to see you like this. His eyes seem to notice your curves for the first time and he likes what he sees.

“Holy Moly”, he whistles. “All this for me, Y/N?”

Your face goes instantly red at his bold remark. Though you do appreciate his hunter look over your body—which makes your aching in your feminine parts quite unbearable—, you are disconcerted for getting his attention like this. Genuinely you didn’t expect to be noticed.

“Oh stop it you”, you slap his shoulder playfully, before being involved in his strong arms… and it’s here where your nipples go hard, much to your embarrassment.

Anakin has an indecent thought concerning you too, tempted to lift your skirt and slide his hands on your ass… wondering if you are as hot as you are presenting yourself. But when remembering how good friends you are, or even if you were not, he admonishes himself for being this naughty.

Clearing his throat, he reluctantly parts the embrace, taking a look at your apartment, in complete ignorance of your state. You quickly move after wine to serve, thinking that not wearing bra was a very bad idea.

“Nice place”, he says. “I was just wondering whether you’d ever ask me for a visit since you moved.”

“How’s work going?”, you show up with glasses and hands one to him. Again your face burns lightly when his gaze lingers at your thighs. Your heart races at the silly sensation of getting his attention. “I get that saving universe must not be an easy task.”

Anakin purposely sits next to you. He smiles at the confused thoughts and how he affects you.

“You have no idea”, he chuckles before getting serious. “It’s been exhausting, truthfully. I’ve been… tossed in a whirlwind, in a hurricane, whatever you want to call it. But let us not ruin the night talking about work. Wine’s good by the way. How’s your life, Y/Nickname? Often being the listener, never the talker.”

Anakin reclines back at the couch, watching as your face is crimson pink.

“My life is hardly as interesting as yours for a start.”

“That is untrue. Come now…”

When did it become about you? You feel suddenly shy. Hardly men in general interested in what you have to say, about who you are.

But when he looks at you, Anakin isn’t seeing only the beautiful woman you are, but the sensitive, witty, kind, good hearted lady that is so passionate about what she loves doing… he cannot help but falling in love.

However, telling you how he feels… is tricky. Specially because he’s got some scars of his previous relationship.

Even so… he cannot deny the intimacy in sharing memories, the attraction there is about you two. Then it occurs him to deal with it in other ways.

“You know what”, he downs the glass. “I think we should play this game in order to get your head out of recent disappointments.”

You laugh quietly.

“Very well. What is it?”

“Truth or dare.”

“Ani…”

“What?”, he laughs. “What harm can it do?”

You take a long sip of wine. One bottle is empty and you use it to spin. The game begins.

***

“Truth or dare?”, you ask him.

Despite the glint of mischief in his eyes, Anakin surprises you by saying:

“Truth.”

“Well… is it true that you broke up with Padme because of the whole Clovis affair?”

Anakin rolls his eyes, giving you a glare.

“Really now, Y/N?”

“Yes or no, answers only”, you smirk.

“Fine.” He sighs. “Yes. Yes, this was why.”

This wipes the smirk off your face as you gently stroke his hand as you play with his fingers.

“I’m genuinely sorry, Ani.”

He runs a hand over his hair before delivering a crooked grin.

“It’s fine. Time to move on. You, now.”

“…Dare.”

“I dare you to kiss me.”

You flutter your eyelashes before gasping.

“I’m sorry, but what?”

“Come on, Y/Nickname. It’s only fair.” He gives that kind of smile he knows it melts you.

It’s when you realize you’ve been obvious about how you feel for him. Oh shit.

“Y/Nickname… It’s either that or tickling.”

You laugh quietly, hating the other option. Ignoring the heat in your face, you lean close.

“Fine, you idiot.”

Distance is shorter now as you and him sit face to face. Never before you’ve noticed how blue his eyes are, how weak your knees are when he smiles at you like that.

Fuck, fuck.

“Well?”

“Damn it, Skywalker, you know how to make me shy.”

“Then let me encourage you better.”

His fingertips rest under your chin, drawing you closer before slipping it to your hair all the whilst using another to put it behind your neck. His lips now brush against yours before you take the initiative and snake your tongue to his mouth.

You gasp when tasting his tongue dancing slowly, synced with yours, not expecting to feel so good—and it’s definitely better than you thought in your wildest dreams.

As you close your eyes, you let the moment take you. Anakin too is surprised by how good your kiss is. His mug smirk is wiped off his lips when he realizes he wants more of it.

The kiss soon deepens, igniting a spark of something new to you both. It gets heated, it gets…

“Well, there you have it”, you say, distancing yourself of him, albeit reluctantly.

Anakin is too disappointed and he poorly conceals it, but in an attempt to change this subtle awkwardness, you spin the bottle again.

“It’s on you again. Truth or dare, Anakin?”

“…Dare.”

There is a brief exchange of glances. This is getting dangerous, a deadly game you didn’t expect to play, but the temptation has been to great to ignore.

Wine takes holds of your lips and even though Anakin knows what is coming out of your tongue, he waits almost impatiently for you to say it.

“I dare you to kiss me.”

Here comes a crooked grin that makes you knees go weak. Anakin smiles warmly at your request, even more than aware of what goes inside your head.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

You offer him a timid smirk when he leans closer to you. He cups your face with his hands, now taking notice of the shades of y/c that paint your irises. His heart almost skips a beat at what he reads in them.

He hesitates only for a moment and before seeing protest rising to your eyes, the Jedi dives in your mouth and slides his tongue inside yours. The kiss perfectly syncs, just to confirm again how much you and him liked how it went before.

This time neither part wishes to break it. The game is postponed as the kiss grows fervent and all so suddenly he is going on top of you, sighing heavily when perceiving the warmth that comes from your body.

All decency is forgotten when you spread your legs and wrap them around his waist, not minding the skirt being lifted as you do. His hands are now going down to your back before grabbing your ass the way you want him to.

Spark is about to erupt, though, when he parts the kiss to look at you.

“Bloody hell”, he mutters under his breath, far from looking regretted to you.

Your face is red with his words, but you cannot break the gaze.

“Was it good?”

“Better than I thought”, he smiles at you. “I am enjoying this game.”

“So am I…”, you agree in between chuckles.

Carefully, he parts from the embrace, though the moment he looks at you doing the same and trying to pull yourself together, Anakin nearly regrets for going back to this game.

“You’re fucking hot”, he whistles.

“Anakin!”, you chuckle quietly, embarrassed for his blunt remark.

“I am not lying, Y/N”, he spins the bottle. “Damned be me for taking a while in messing with you.”

You laugh, but to say you don’t enjoy the attention is to indulge in lies. However, the ache in your legs only gets worse.

“So… truth or dare?”, Anakin asks you.

“Truth”, you tell him, pleased to spot a disappointment look in his face.

“Very well”, and only then a mischievous thought occurs him. “Is it true you masturbated thinking of me?”

Your eyes go wide at it.

“Anakin! You haven’t been reading my mind, have you?”

By how he raises his eyebrows, you know you gave far more than he would.

“Fuck”, you curse.

“It’s a “yes” or “no” answer, darling”, he laughs quietly, more than amused by the looks on your face.

“Yes”, you grumble. “But it wasn’t this good.”

“Mm, why not?”

“Not answering you that, Skywalker.”

Anakin chuckles. It’s time for you to spin the bottle. Now you ask him.

“Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

You make a grimace, but what comes next surprises both of you, in all honesty. Growing bolder due to the wine you ingested, you smirk and say:

“I dare you to remove your clothes.”

Anakin raises his eyebrows.

“…my clothes?”

“Every piece of it.”

“I wasn’t expecting on that.”

But he does as commanded. However, when he does, Anakin makes sure your eyes are glued on him. And he wants to take notices of how your body reacts as he removes piece by piece.

When you rub your leg into another and how hard your nipples get… those are enough signs to make him further aroused. But he is patient. So he takes his time.

And when you see his length throbbing it… you fear you are about to blow.

“Very well. Your turn, missy”, says Anakin with a mug smirk on his face.

“…Dare.”

“I dare you to give me a hand job.”

Your eyes go wide at his suggestion and Anakin would have regretted it for being so bold had you not risen and taken his side at the couch. Your eyes go to his manhood, and as your chest goes heavier, he opts to interfere.

“You don’t have to do it if you feel uncomfortable.”

“It’s not about that”, you hesitate.

“Oh”, he quickly understands what’s not being said. “None ever taught you correctly, uh? Come here and I will.”

It turns out to be more arousing than you and Anakin would judge. He whispers in your ear what he wants you to do and your hand is right over his cock, following his directions. It’s when he bites down your earlobe that makes you shiver lightly.

“Are you horny?”, he asks you, already aware of how he affects you, which in turn makes him moan.

And to hear him moan so close threatens your self control. You decide not to answer him, even when it’s clearly a positive response. It feels good to watch him like that, how your delicate hands are capable of doing up and down, playing with the tip of his manhood before caressing his balls.

Then a thought… a not so strange one, in fact, occurs you.

Anakin, a man who is hardly ever surprised by others, is surprised by the moment you slide to your knees and engulf him with your eager tongue and pink lips.

“Ah! Ah! Y/N!”, he arches his back, wishing he’d decently ask you to stop, but you are such a good girl.

You like to suck him, you know you do. To taste him, to have his precum in his mouth makes you indecently horny. You take all of it, his louder moans making you drip wet in your panties. But your mind goes blank.

Specially when you taste a different kind of drink you used to swallow. And he cums so violently after fucking your face… though you don’t mind it. You feel like a whore, but what’s worst is that you like it.

“Y/N. To the bedroom, now.”

Anakin lifts you up, holding you in your arms before carrying you to bed. Only when putting you down and kissing your lips does he say:

“I want to compensate you for being such a good girl to me.”

Saying so he removes your clothes. Denuded underneath his gaze, you lie down in bed with your legs spread.

“Touch yourself thinking of me”, he asks you, already getting hard at it. “Tell me your secretive thoughts, Y/N.”

“Anakin…”, you are on your elbows, enjoying the naughty look he gives you. “I need assistance here. Come on.”

And then you beg.

“Please.”

He bends over your side, a hand caressing your waist all the whilst his lips are over your shoulders and neck. Inhaling the scent in your skin, Anakin is completely drawn to you.

“Your wish is my command, Madame”, he whispers in your ear before his curious fingertips find way to your womanhood.

He plays with your pubic hair for a while before his index finger digs into you. When feeling how soaked you are, Anakin growls low and you shiver when feeling his erection member just behind your lower back.

“You make me so naughty”, you whimper, barely believing he’s doing what you’ve always wanted him to.

“Had you told me this earlier, I would not take such a time to get to you”, he says, already short breath cut by the sounds you make. “Fuck… Let me access your thoughts and drink into that. I need it.”

Not that he is surprised when he does, but it is somewhat more colorful when you permit him to dive in your dirtiest thoughts concerning him… or even when he accesses your sentiments.

This is not lust anymore when he turns you to him, his finger still inside you.

“Damned you are, woman”, he hisses at you before crushing your moans with a fervent kiss.

And who are you to fight his urges, which equals yours?

***

As loving as he is when making love to you, you prefer him to be on top of you. When looking at his face, his messy, shortened hair with a few curls dropping over his face… It takes all of your strength not to drown in a quick climax.

He does it so well, no lover compares to him. He thrusts in slow and deep and you feel it. You like feeling him. Oh you do.

And when he leans to you, his lips pursuing yours in an old fashioned manner you are foolishly open, making all of this more emotional than you’d have originally judged.

“Anakin!”, you whimper loudly again. “I might…”

“Yes, Princess? Come to me! Come to me all right”, he commands you to, his body linked to yours indecently so.

His hands locked to yours, your eyes close as your body arches and it feels so different… almost as if you are gravitating. There is something else compelling you to a bigger wave of pleasure that makes you so sensitive to it.

It might as well as Anakin using the Force to reach the unreachable. Who cares?

He’s yours and you are his.

When you cry out his name, it’s such a confirmation.

And Anakin smiles because of it. Because you are finally the lover his wounded heart wanted… thus it is this new beginning of yours.